—­Oh, Monsieur le Cure, Veronica is not capable of that.

—­Therefore, since you have discovered ... discovered a secret which would ruin me, what do you calculate on making from this secret, and what do you demand?

—­I, Monsieur le Cure, cried the servant, I demand nothing ... oh! nothing.

—­You are hesitating.  Yes, you want something.  Come, it is you now who hang your head and blush, while it is I who am the culprit....  Come, place yourself there, close to me.

—­Oh!  Monsieur le Cure, I shall never presume.

—­Presume then to-day.  Have you not told me that you were my friend?... 
Yes.  Well then, place yourself there.  Tell me, Veronica, what is your age?

—­Mine, Monsieur le Cure.  What a question!  I am not too old; come, not so old as you think.  I am forty.

—­Forty! why you are still of an age to get married.

—­I quite think so.

—­And you have never intended to do so?

—­To get married?  Oh, upon my word, if I had wanted to do so, I should not have waited until now.

—­I believe you, Veronica.  You could have done very well before now.  But you may have changed your ideas.  Our characters, our tastes change with time, and a thing displeases us to-day, which will please us to-morrow.  There are often, it is true, certain considerations which stop us and make us reflect.  Perhaps you have not a round enough sum.  With a little money, at your age, you could still make an excellent match.

—­And even without money, Monsieur le Cure.  If I were willing, somebody has been pestering me for a long time for that.

—­And you are not willing.  The person doubtless does not suit you?

—­Oh, I have my choice.

—­Well and good.  We cannot use too much reflection upon a matter of this importance.  I am not rich, Veronica, but I should like to help you and to increase, if it be possible, your little savings, your dowry in fact.

—­You are very good, sir, but I do not wish to get married.

—­Why so?

—­It depends on tastes, you know....  You are in a great hurry then to get rid of me, Monsieur le Cure.

—­Not at all:  do not believe it.

—­Come, come, Monsieur le Cure.  I see your intentions.  You say to yourself:  “she holds a secret which may prove troublesome to me; with a little money I will put a padlock on her tongue, I will get her married, and by this means she will trouble me no more.”  Is it a bad guess?

—­You have not guessed it the least in world, Veronica.

—­Oh, it is!  But it is a bad calculation, and for two reasons.  In the first place, if I marry, your secret is more in danger than if I remain single.  You know that a woman ought not to hide anything from her husband.

—­There are certain things....

—­No, nothing at all:  no secret, or mystery.  The husband ought to see all, to know all, to be acquainted with all that concerns his wife.  Ah!  I know how to live, though I am an old maid.