"I always am. But you have a pair of red eyes; what does that mean? You have been crying; is there anything new? doesn't Lucien love you any more?"
"Oh, yes! poor boy—I see in his eyes that he still loves me; he can't tell me so except with his eyes, but I can understand what they say."
"What is the matter, then?"
"Oh! mon Dieu! the matter is that they are still bent on marrying me, especially my stepmother, who wants to get rid of me; and this time it seems that they have found a husband for me. It's that infernal second-hand dealer, Madame Putiphar, who has planned it all. She promised my stepmother to bear me in mind. And now they say she's found a superb match for me: a Neapolitan or Sicilian count—or some kind of an Italian nobleman, immensely rich, who doesn't want a dowry!—do you hear? no dowry! That is what captivates father."
"Have you seen this count?"
"No, not yet, thank God! but it appears that I am to see him soon; we're to give a dinner for him and one of his friends, who always accompanies him."
"Your father is going to give a dinner party? it isn't possible!"
"Oh! he didn't want to; but it seems that this count is in the habit of dining in every house he goes to—he and his friend; my stepmother Aldegonde brought my father to the point. 'You must give this dinner,' she said, 'and let it be a handsome one; a rich and noble son-in-law is well worth going to some little expense.'—Father swore, but he yielded—and the day is fixed: the day after to-morrow, my prospective husband is to dine with us. And that is why I am crying! why I am so unhappy! And I saw in Lucien's eyes that he knew all about it; Aldegonde probably told him, just to be nasty."
"Come, come, my poor Juliette, don't get so excited; this marriage hasn't come off yet. You are very pretty, but perhaps your style of beauty won't please this Italian."
"Oh! I'll make faces at him."