"You share his ambitions."
"I flatter myself that I do."
"You can rest assured then: he will have no hesitation. The scruples will come from the Bastian side, who are the souls of honour...."
"Ah! if he heard you," said Lucienne, letting go her brother's arm, "he would fight you."
"What would that prove?"
"That he felt your insult as I felt it myself, Jean. For Lieutenant von Farnow is a man of honour!"
"Yes, in his way—which is not our way."
"Very good! Very noble!"
"Rather feudal, this nobility of theirs. They have not had the time to have that of a later date. But after all it does not matter. I am not in a mood for discussion. I suffer too much. All I wish to say is that when I ask for Odile's hand I shall be refused. I foresee it, I am sure of it; and that von Farnow will not understand why, and if he did understand he would not withdraw, he would never think of sacrificing himself. In speaking like this, I am not slandering him. I simply understand him."
They walked on, enveloped in an atmosphere of light and warmth, which they did not enjoy, between long strips of young corn, smiling unnoticed around them. In the plain, some labourers seeing them pass side by side, walking together, envied them. Lucienne could not deny that her brother's forebodings were reasonable. Yes, it must be so, judging from what she herself knew of Lieutenant von Farnow and the Bastians. In any other circumstance she would have pitied her brother, but personal interest spoke louder than pity. She felt a kind of disturbed joy when she heard Jean acknowledge his fears. She felt encouraged not to be generous, because she felt he was anxious. Not being able to pity him, she at any rate drew near to him, and talked to him about herself.