"O, impossible, Ma'm'selle! Think of the Count, your uncle."
"Mariotte, think of me. It is I who am to be married, not the Count, my uncle. Consider, it is for my happiness."
"One would almost think, Ma'm'selle, that you wished to detect some excuse for ridding yourself of M. de Berniers."
"Perhaps."
"Ah, ah! then there is a reason."
"Possibly."
"And that reason is—"
"Tall, brave, and handsome. Mariotte, do me justice; do you think it was for nothing that I used to dress with such double, triple care for the last few court balls at Paris?"
"Ma'm'selle, say no more; I consent."
"A thousand thanks, Mariotte."