"But why? Does it change the matter?"
"Surely you will not persuade yourself that this farce with the old pastor in his dressing-gown and slippers, his morning-pipe and the fragrance of Mocha--was a wedding? You will not expect me as a Protestant, or any enlightened Catholic, to regard it in that light?"
"But what does the form matter? Protestantism cares nothing for the form--it heeds only the meaning."
"But the meaning was lacking--at least to you--to you it was a mere form which you owed to the sanctity of your lover's mask of Christus." He seized her hand with unwonted passion. "Madeleine, for once be truthful to yourself and to me--am I not right?"
"Yes!" she murmured almost inaudibly.
"Well, then--if the meaning was lacking and the chosen form an illegal one--what binds you?"
Madeleine was silent. This question was connected with her secret, which he would never understand. His nature was too positive to reckon with anything except facts. The duke felt that she was withholding an answer, not because she had none, but because she did not wish to give the true one. But he did not allow himself to be disconcerted. "Did the old pastor give you any written proof of this 'sacred rite'--we will give it the proud name of a marriage certificate."
"Yes."
"Who has the document?"
"Freyer!"