Dinner time came. Afterwards, as usual, they played a game of whist. M. Hervart retired to bed with pleasure and, wearied by his kisses and his thoughts, went to sleep full of the contentment that comes from a pleasant fatigue.
"I shall have to warn Rose," he said to himself as soon as he woke, rather late, next morning, "of her mother's schemes. They might make her fall into some trap."
He soon found an opportunity. In the morning their kisses were more reserved, still somnolent. They frittered away the time pleasantly. M. Hervart would sometimes make a serious examination of some rare insect: Rose worked at her embroidery with conviction. They did not venture into the wood, because of the dew, but remained in the neighbourhood of the house. At this hour of the day M. Hervart was always particularly lucid. He discoursed on a hundred different topics and Rose listened, without daring to interrupt, even when she did not understand. She enjoyed the sound of his voice much more than the sense of his words.
Rose was not surprised to learn of her mothers schemes. She confessed, furthermore, that she had divined in M. Varin's attitude the existence of quite definite intentions. It was therefore decided that M. Hervart should make his request that very day in order to forestall circumstances. Rose spoke so resolutely and her words were so lyrical that M. Hervart felt all his absurd hesitations melt away within him. She knew her parents' income and gave the figure, very straightforwardly, like the practical woman she was. M. Des Boys had an income of sixty thousand francs of which, she imagined, he hardly spent half. There was no doubt that he would willingly give the greater part of the other half to his only daughter. As she had also calculated, though with less certainty, the value of M. Hervart's fortune, she included decisively:
"We shall have from thirty to forty thousand francs a year."
M. Hervart calculated the figures again with the details that were known to him personally and found the estimate correct. His admiration for Rose was increased.
"She has all the virtues: an aptitude for love and the sense of domestic economy, intelligence and very little education, health without a striking beauty. Finally, she adores me and I love her."
At the first insinuations of his friend M. Des Boys smiled and said:
"I thought as much. My daughter has received but the vaguest education. Her mother is incapable. As for me, I am interested only in art. She needs a serious husband, a husband, that is to say, who is not in his first youth. If she wants you, take her. I'll go and ask her."
M. Hervart was on the point of saying there was no need. But luckily he checked himself and M. Des Boys questioned his daughter.