“Pélagie, a promised husband may kiss his betrothed’s hand as much as he pleases.”
“Really?”
Instantly she offered me both hands. Her docility was charming; it was something, at all events.
“Pélagie, what has your aunt ever said to you about me?”
“She told me I might listen to you.”
“And then?”
“That you had asked for my hand, and she had given it to you.”
“So she didn’t consult you beforehand?”
“No, my dear. What for?”