“My good friend,” said the count, “I do not wish, and I believe quite sincerely that I cannot, do so.  You know my ideas.  Genuine passions always have the best of it, and I am not quite sure that honor itself is a very effective argument against them.  As to setting up reason against them, it is worse than folly.  Besides, come, Lucan, what is there so unreasonable in the simple fact of marrying a person I love?  I don’t see that it is absolutely necessary for a man not to love his wife—­Well! can I rely upon you?”

“Completely so,” said Lucan, taking his hand.  “I raised my objections; now I am wholly at your service.  I shall speak to Clotilde in a moment.  She is going to see her daughter this afternoon.  Come and dine with us to-night; but summon up all your courage, for, after all, success is very uncertain.”

Monsieur de Lucan found it no difficult task to gain the cause of Monsieur de Moras with Clotilde.  After hearing him, not, however, without interrupting him more than once with exclamations of surprise: 

“Mon Dieu!” she replied, “that would be an ideal!  Not only would that marriage put an end to projects that break my heart, but it offers all the conditions of happiness that I can possibly think of for my daughter; and furthermore, the friendship that binds you to Pierre would naturally, some day, bring about a rapprochement between his wife and yourself.  All that would be too fortunate; but how could we hope for such a complete and sudden revolution in Julia’s ideas?  She will not even allow me to deliver my message to the end.”

She left, palpitating with anxiety.  She found Julia alone in her room, trying on before a mirror her novice’s dress; the vail that was to conceal her luxuriant hair was laid upon the bed; she was simply dressed in a long, white woolen tunic, whose folds she was engaged in adjusting.

She blushed when she saw her mother come in; then with an insipient laugh: 

“Cymodocea in the circus, isn’t it, mother?”

Clotilde made no answer; she had joined her hands in a supplicating attitude, and wept as she looked at her.  Julia was moved by that mute sorrow; two tears rolled from her eyes, and she threw her arms around her mother’s neck; then, taking a seat by her side: 

“What can I do?” she said; “I, too, feel some regret at heart, for, after all, I was fond of life; but aside from my vocation, which I believe quite real, I am yielding to a positive necessity.  There is no other existence possible for me but that one.  I know very well—­it’s my own fault; I have been somewhat foolish—­I should not have left you in the first place, or at least, I should have returned to your house immediately after your marriage.  Now, after months, and even years, is it possible, I ask you?  In the first place, I would die with shame.  Can you imagine me in the presence of your husband?  What sort of countenance could I put on?  And then, he must fairly detest me, the bent must be firmly taken in his mind.  Finally, I should be in all respects terribly in your way!”