"Why certainly."
"Well, for such a marriage—ah, my dear fellow, you sail to-morrow at what time?"
"At two o'clock."
"Oh, we have plenty of time, then; all will be settled by two o'clock."
"Oh, settled; you're crazy!"
"Not at all; it's already very far advanced, since it's papa's Number Three. I only ask one thing of you: present me to the mother shortly. After that let me alone. I'll manage everything; only, at any cost, we must leave our car and find two arm-chairs in the same car, and near my mother-in-law."
"Your mother-in-law!"
"That's what I said; my mother-in-law. Once the two arm-chairs are procured, I am master of the situation. You don't know me. I already know what I shall say to the mother, what I shall say to my young brother-in-law (he is very nice), and what I shall say to my future bride. I shall have made a conquest of all of them before we reach Lyons. Lyons? No; that's going a little fast—say Valence or Montélimar. Pass me the time-table again. Let us settle everything, and leave nothing to chance. Oh, look at her! She has nibbled nuts for the last fifteen minutes, and how she cracks them—crack! one little bite—and what pretty little teeth! She is very pretty even while eating—an important thing. It's very rare to find women who remain pretty while eating and sleeping, very rare. Little Adelaide, the red-headed one, you remember, ate stupidly. And this one over there eats brightly; she eats—crack! another nut—and she looks at me on the sly. I can see that she looks at me. All goes well, all goes well!"
In truth, all did go well. At Montbard, 12.32, Raoul was presented to Mme. Derame, who, on hearing the name of Chamblard, had a little shiver—the shiver of a mother who has a young daughter to marry, and who says to herself, "Oh, what a splendid match!" Her husband had often spoken to her of young Chamblard.
"Ah," he used to say to her, "what a marriage for Martha! We speak of it sometimes before and after our piquet, Chamblard and I; but the young man is restive—doesn't yet wish to settle down. It would be such a good thing—he is richer than we. Chamblard is once, twice, three times richer! And Martha isn't easy to marry; she has already refused five or six desirable matches on all sorts of pretexts. They didn't please her: they were too old, they had no style, they didn't live in fashionable neighborhoods, she didn't wish to go into sugar, or cotton, or wine—or anything, in short. She would accept none other than a young husband, and not too serious. She must have a very rich man who did nothing and loved pleasure."