."

Pascal shrugged his shoulders; and putting a finger to his lip he went
into the dining-room, where Felicite and Maxime were seated.

The dinner was very friendly. The sudden disquietude which had sprung up
in Clotilde's heart made her still more affectionate to her brother, who
sat beside her. She attended to his wants gayly, forcing him to take the
most delicate morsels. Twice she called back Martine, who was passing
the dishes too quickly. And Maxime was more and more enchanted by this
sister, who was so good, so healthy, so sensible, whose charm enveloped
him like a caress. So greatly was he captivated by her that gradually
a project, vague at first, took definite shape within him. Since little
Charles, his son, terrified him so greatly with his deathlike beauty,
his royal air of sickly imbecility, why should he not take his sister
Clotilde to live with him? The idea of having a woman in his house
alarmed him, indeed, for he was afraid of all women, having had too
much experience of them in his youth; but this one seemed to him truly
maternal. And then, too, a good woman in his house would make a change
in it, which would be a desirable thing. He would at least be left no
longer at the mercy of his father, whom he suspected of desiring his
death so that he might get possession of his money at once. His hatred
and terror of his father decided him.

"Don't you think of marrying, then?" he asked, wishing to try the
ground.

The young girl laughed.

"Oh, there is no hurry," she answered.

Then, suddenly, looking at Pascal, who had raised his head, she added:

"How can I tell? Oh, I shall never marry."

But Felicite protested. When she saw her so attached to the doctor, she
often wished for a marriage that would separate her from him, that would
leave her son alone in a deserted home, where she herself might become
all powerful, mistress of everything. Therefore she appealed to him. Was
it not true that a woman ought to marry, that it was against nature to
remain an old maid?

And he gravely assented, without taking his eyes from Clotilde's face.

"Yes, yes, she must marry. She is too sensible not to marry."

"Bah!" interrupted Maxime, "would it be really sensible in her to
marry? In order to be unhappy, perhaps; there are so many ill-assorted
marriages!"

And coming to a resolution, he added:

"Don't you know what you ought to do? Well, you ought to come and live
with me in Paris. I have thought the m