“I convince you? Not so, madame; observe your husband, and you will change your mind.”
“Observe him? I always did so, and always found him the same.”
“He is a kind, amiable man, at least.”
“Amiable! he is so, he knows it, and takes pains to be so; but, unfortunately, not to make others happy—only himself. For this I cannot call him good, although I cannot call him bad.”
“Surely, madame, I do not understand you; permit me, however, to return confidence for confidence. I never knew two human beings who so much deserved to be happy, and were so calculated to render each other so, as you and your husband, and yet you are estranged from each other. I shall certainly believe I have lived long enough, and have accomplished enough, if I can unite you more affectionately to each other, and attach your now divided hearts.”
“You are very kind; but though half your wish is already accomplished—for my heart has long been pursuing his, which flies from me—I fear that you attempt an impossibility. However, if any one could succeed in this, you are that one. You, Alamontade, are the first to whom Bertollon has quite attached himself,—to whom he firmly clings. Try it; change the disposition of the man.”
“You are joking; I change him? What other virtue do you wish Bertollon to practise? He is generous, modest, the protector of innocence, of an unvarying temper, without predominant passions, disinterested, kind.”
“You are right, he is all that.”
“And how shall I change him?”
“Make him a better man.”