Krusé's answer was the same as has been given in similar cases from the time of the Deluge. Both forgot at that moment how long it is to--never!
On the same evening, about two hours later, Jeanné sat alone with the Baroness in her private apartment, and confided to her the whole story of the attachment--indeed, the engagement between herself and Krusé. The elder lady listened patiently and attentively to the tale; her face wore its usual bland smile, her voice had its accustomed sweet and affectionate tone.
'I have long suspected these feelings on your cousin's side, my dear child,' she said quietly, 'but I did not suppose that you would admit having returned them without first making some communication to me.'
'Oh, my own dearest mother!' cried Jeanné, in the most caressing manner, and in a beseeching tone, 'you must forgive me!'
'There is nothing to forgive,' replied the Baroness. 'What has happened has happened, and it appears to me there is nothing more to be said on the subject. I have known Krusé since he was a child; he is of a very amiable disposition and noble character, most gentlemanly and chivalric in all his actions. I also truly believe that he loves you, my darling Jeanné; who could do otherwise?'
And the mother leaned over the kneeling daughter, who had placed her hands upon her lap, and kissed her fair brow.
'But Krusé, notwithstanding all these excellent qualities, can never be your husband.'
Jeanné uttered a faint shriek.
'Oh, mother, mother! What do you say?' she cried, in the greatest consternation.
'Listen to what I have got to say,' continued the Baroness, 'and listen calmly. Krusé is poor; he has nothing except his pay as an officer, which is scarcely enough to meet the daily expenses of a gentleman. You, my dear child, are not rich either, as after my death your brother will inherit the property. It is only, therefore, by marriage that your future comfort can be secured. You have, naturally, never thought of all these circumstances. At your age the heart is swayed by happier interests; it is not until later that the prosaic part of life forces itself upon us, and awakens us from our dreams. But I--your mother--have well considered all this. While you have engaged yourself to your cousin, I have fixed upon another for you--another who, with the same chivalric character, unites better prospects for your future life. Yes, weep on, my darling girl! I understand your tears, for I have felt as you do, for I have loved as you do. When I was about your age I was much attached to a young nobleman, who was as poor as Krusé. My parents chose another for me, and I acknowledge now how fortunate it was that they were not influenced by my wishes. I judge by this--that the woman whom he afterwards married has led a very unhappy life.'