“Oh, no! but I have so many things to say to you! It so seldom happens that I find you alone!”
“Does mamma’s presence prevent you from talking with me? Don’t we talk hours at a time every evening, while they are playing cards?”
“Yes, but that isn’t the same thing; it’s much pleasanter to be alone! Dear Eugénie! I would like to pass my life with you and nobody else!”
“Oh! you would very soon get tired of that!”
“Tired of being with you! Impossible! But perhaps you yourself would not be willing to sacrifice to me the attentions of this mob of young men who sigh for you.”
“Oh! how mean it is to say that! When I am bored to death everywhere where you are not! Do you mean to say that I listen to the compliments and flattery of a lot of young men? Nonsense! come to the piano, monsieur!”
“Just a moment!”
I adored her, I was certain that she loved me, and yet I trembled at the thought of mentioning the word marriage! What a strange thing! To hesitate, to be embarrassed about mentioning to the person you love, a bond which you both desire! I had never hesitated with a pretty woman about overcoming her modesty and abusing her weakness; it seems to me that it requires more courage to behave oneself than to misbehave.
I held Eugénie’s hand, which she abandoned to me; I could not speak, but I covered her hand with kisses. I did not know if she guessed all that was going on in my heart; but a deep flush covered her cheeks, and she turned her eyes away in order to avoid mine. At last I stammered in an undertone and with an almost shamefaced air:
“Eugénie—will you be my wife?”