“Besides, you’ve known all about housekeeping for a long time, and your sewing’s like a charm, and you make cheeses that a body could eat all day long without hurting ‘em; and then you know all the ins and outs of a house. You’re active and a good worker; you have three times more wit than you need to guide a man who might try to go wrong; and morguenne! the man who gets you won’t ever regret it!”
Denise looked at Mère Fourcy in surprise, and faltered:
“I don’t understand, aunt.”
“That makes a difference, my dear; I’ll cut it short. You’re old enough to get married, and there’s several chances offered. First of all, big Fanfan Jolivet, and then neighbor Mauflard’s nephew, and tall Claude-Jean-Pierre-Nicolas Lathuille, who’s just inherited his father’s estate; there’s lots more too that would like you, but those three are the best fixed. They’re good boys and hard workers. It’s your business to choose which one you want for a husband.”
Denise had turned pale and shown great embarrassment during her aunt’s speech; but she glanced again at the remains of her marguerite and replied in a very low tone:
“I don’t want any one of them, aunt.”
“What do you say, my child?”
“I say that—that I don’t want to marry.”
“You don’t want to marry? Nonsense! You’re joking when you say that! As if girls mustn’t marry! I tell you, on the contrary, marriage will do you good. For a long time now you haven’t been yourself, you don’t laugh or sing any more. A husband, my child, makes you sing, brings back your spirits, and—Great heaven! you’re crying, my poor Denise! Do you think I mean to make you feel bad? No, no! I’ll send all your suitors to the devil first. My poor child crying! I don’t want you to do that. Come, tell me right away what makes you cry.”
“To have to refuse you, aunt.”