llac had risen to his feet again;
and whilst persistently holding out the casket towards De Scuderi he
said, like one distracted--and his looks were wild and uneasy,--"Have
pity upon me, Mademoiselle, and take the ornaments. You don't know what
great respect I cherish in my heart for your virtue and your high good
qualities. Accept this little present as an effort on my behalf to show
my deep respect and devotion." But as De Scuderi still continued to
hesitate, De Maintenon took the casket out of Cardillac's hands,
saying, "Upon my word, Mademoiselle, you are always talking about your
great age. What have we, you and I, to do with years and their burdens?
And aren't you acting just like a shy young thing, who would only too
well like to take the sweet fruit that is offered to her if she could
only do so without stirring either hand or finger? Don't refuse to
accept from our good Master Rene as a free gift what scores of others
could never get, in spite of all their gold and all their prayers and
entreaties."

Whilst speaking De Maintenon had forced the casket into Mademoiselle's
hand; and now Cardillac again fell upon his knees and kissed De
Scuderi's gown and hands, sighing and gasping, weeping and sobbing;
then he jumped up and ran off like a madman, as fast as he could run,
upsetting chairs and tables in his senseless haste, and making the
glasses and porcelain tumble together with a ring and jingle and clash.

De Scuderi cried out quite terrified, "Good Heavens! what's happened to
the man?" But the Marchioness, who was now in an especially lively mood
and in such a pert humour as was in general quite foreign to her, burst
out into a silvery laugh, and said, "Now, I've got it, Mademoiselle.
Master Rene has fallen desperately in love with you, and according to
the established form and settled usage of all true gallantry, he is
beginning to storm your heart with rich presents." She even pushed her
raillery further, admonishing De Scuderi not to be too cruel towards
her despairing lover, until Mademoiselle, letting her natural-born
humour have play, was carried away by the bubbling stream of merry
conceits and fancies. She thought that if that was really the state of
the case, she should be at last conquered and would not be able to help
affording to the world the unprecedented example of a goldsmith's
bride, of untarnished nobility, of the age of three and seventy. De
Maintenon offered her services to weave the weddin