The young goddess, for the present, did not go farther than Lannilis, in Poitou, to her husband’s home—­her home—­in a mansion that had seen many Duchesses of Lannilis, but never one more charming, and never, it must be said, one more absolutely in love.  This little duchess of nineteen was wild about this little duke of twenty-five, who was jealously carrying her off for himself alone to a quiet and solitary retreat.

They had arrived Thursday, the 24th of June, at about two o’clock—­on an exquisite night beneath a star-spangled sky—­and they were suddenly astounded at receiving a letter from their Aunt Louise, dated July 1: 

“Eight days’ steady tete-a-tete,” she wrote, “is enough, quite enough.  Trust to the experience of an old countrywoman, who would be delighted to kiss her little nephew and niece.  Don’t eat all your love in the bud—­keep a little for the future.”

Thursday, the 1st of July!  Eight days!  They had been eight days at Lannilis!  It was impossible!  They tried to put some order in their reflections.  What had they done Friday, Saturday, and Sunday?  But all was vague, and became confused in their minds.  The days and the nights, and the nights and days.  What had they done?  It was always the same, same thing; and the same thing had somehow never been the same thing.

They had just loved, loved, loved; and, quite given up to this very wise occupation, they had completely forgotten that near Lannilis, in the old residence of Chatellerault, there was dear old Aunt Louise, who was expecting their first bridal visit—­a visit which was due her, for she had the best claim in the world, on account of her eighty-four years, her kindness, and also because of the gift of a magnificent pearl necklace to Marceline.

So it was necessary to be resigned, to leave off dreaming, and to come back to reality; and it was during this visit that, before the old aunt, much amused at the quarrel, this great dispute had abruptly burst forth between the young married couple.

Aunt Louise had accepted the position of arbitrator, and, presiding over the discussion, she had made the two contestants sit down before her in arm-chairs, at a respectful distance.  Marceline, before being seated, had already taken the floor.

“Every one agreed upon this point (you know it, Aunt Louise; mamma must often have told you in her letters)—­every one was agreed on this point:  that there were really only two suitable matches for me—­the Duke of Lannilis here present, and the Duke of Courtalin.  I had the weakness to prefer him—­him over there.  Why?  I can scarcely tell-a childish habit, doubtless.  We had played together when we were no higher than that at being little husband and wife.  I had remained faithful to that childhood love, whereas he—­”

“Whereas I—­”

“All in due season, sir, and you will lose nothing by waiting.  However, there were all sorts of good reasons for preferring—­the other one, who had a larger fortune and was of more ancient nobility.”