had,' she said to me, 'yesterday, on seeing each
other again after a long absence, a little spasm of emotion. That is all
right; but you must stop there, and not prolong this foolishness,' And,
just as I was going to protest: 'Oh yes; foolishness!' 'Remember,
Marceline's happiness is at stake. You have no right to compromise her.
You come back from China all at once, and your abrupt return will break
off more sensible, more studied arrangements. M. de Courtalin is
thirty-four; he is a man of great knowledge and wisdom. However, I know
that that is only a secondary consideration; but love passes away, and
money remains, and M. de Courtalin is richer, very much richer, than
you. With him Marceline will have quite a grand position. Whereas you,
you know how I love you, and I know how worthy you are of being loved.
You are charming, charming, charming.' It was your mother who spoke
thus."

"I know; I know."

"'Yes, charming; but when I have said that, I have said all. So I will
ask you this question, and I expect from you a faithful answer: Have you
those solid qualities which alone can make a husband, a true husband?
Marceline is a little light-headed, a little frivolous, a little
coquettish.' It is always your mother who is speaking."

"I know; I know."

"I was embarrassed, Aunt Louise; it seemed to me that that speech was
not without reason. I hadn't a very high idea of myself as a husband,
and even now I ask myself--"

"Don't ask yourself anything. Be an affectionate husband, and you will
have all the virtues. Nothing simpler, as you see. You can go on."

"Well, your mother was so skilfully persuasive that the day after, at
the races, I gave that cold greeting."

"And so I, that same day, on entering the house, threw myself into
mamma's arms, exclaiming, 'Yes, I am willing to marry M. de Courtalin!'
Ah, how many times between that day and the 16th of May I threw myself
into mamma's arms! I did nothing else. Mamma got used to it, and never
saw me appear without mechanically opening her arms. 'Yes, I am
willing,' and sometimes, 'No, I am not.' But the 'No, I am nots' became
fewer and fewer. M. de Courtalin, besides, was perfect; a model of tact,
of gentleness, and of resignation. He waited, always in his black
frock-coat, always buttoned, with an inexhaustible patience. Mamma was,
in short, pledged to Mme. de Courtalin, and I felt the circle tighten
round me. The papers announced, in a covert but transparent way,