Robineau pressed his lips together with an air of vexation, and replied:
"My dear Alfred, so many phrases were not necessary to come to that—that I should not marry Mademoiselle de la Pincerie. I admit that I thought that you were going, on the contrary, to compliment me upon my taste. And why should I not marry her?"
"Because that woman is not at all suited to you."
"The fact that I adore her proves, on the contrary, that she is suited to me."
"Pshaw! you imagine that! You adored Fifine, too, and you left her without regret!"
"Fifine! Why in the deuce do you mention her! My friend, I entreat you, do not utter that name again. If the La Pincerie family should find out—I know of course that a young man is at liberty to amuse himself, but no matter! The family is so rigid in the matter of morals that it might prejudice me."
"You love Mademoiselle Cornélie, I doubt not; but she does not love you; she will marry you in order to have a husband, that’s all."
"She does not love me!" cried Robineau. "Ah! upon my word, my dear Alfred, I thought that you had more tact and discernment than that. Mademoiselle de la Pincerie does not love me! No, she adores me, that’s all; and thank heaven! yesterday I had proofs of that, the most amiable abandon, hand-clasps, sighs, nervous thrills! The fact is, she is mad over me."
Alfred turned away with a shrug, then rejoined:
"All right, she adores you, I don’t deny it; I may have been mistaken. But that woman is as old as you are; she is fully twenty-eight."