"Yes, yes, I say it again; and if it offends you, say the word; I am at your service."
Edouard and Alfred were silent for several moments. But the former reflected that he was more fortunate than Alfred, since Isaure loved him; he thought of the disappointment, of the regrets, which he must feel who had been unable to touch the young mountaineer’s heart; thereupon his wrath faded away, he pitied his rival, he said to himself that it was the duty of the more fortunate lover to pardon the other; and approaching Alfred, he took his hand, pressed it affectionately, and said:
"Could you really fight with me?"
Alfred was moved, but he strove to control himself as he replied:
"When one has insulted a person, should one not be ready to give him satisfaction?"
"But can I take offense at a word inspired by anger, and which your heart disavows? Should one never forgive his friend for anything? What would be the use of friendship if it does not make us more indulgent to those whom we love?"
"Friendship! I no longer believe in yours!"
"Alfred, I have but one thing more to say to you; I propose that Isaure shall be my wife."
"Your wife?" cried Alfred in amazement, "your wife,—that young peasant!"
"Yes, I am fully determined upon it. Will you forgive me now for the preference which she accords to me?"