“I suppose I am not a witness to be trusted,” remarked Mme. Léopold; “but I can testify that he is a model man. He is certainly a model son, and a good son is generally good in every other relation.”
“That depends. He loves you, so it costs him nothing to be good to you. We are all of us good to those we love.”
“And why should he not love his wife? Is there any reason why he should not love her?”
“Not that I know of; but I did not know he had a wife.”
“Ah! but I have got one for him. Chère madame, that is why I wanted to have a little chat with you. I have found a perfect wife for my son, and I want you to arrange it. Do you not guess?”
Yes, Mrs. Monteagle did; and involuntarily her eyes wandered to the piano, where Pearl was striving earnestly, but in vain, to draw out by her passionate accompaniment some responsive spark from the dark face that was solemnly appealing to his Eléonore, her own face meanwhile flushed with the effort and the music; perhaps also by her endeavors to keep those dimples under control, for they seemed actually bursting with suppressed laughter.
“How lovely she is!” said Mrs. Monteagle, instead of answering the eager mother.
“She is a most sweet girl, and would, I feel sure, make a perfect wife for my Léon.”
“And you are equally sure that he would make her a perfect husband?”
“Chère madame! can you look at him and doubt it?”