“Yes, but I, with my Southern nature, love passionately; and Celeste has other attractions besides fortune.  Brought up in your household, under your own eye, you have made her adorable.  Only, I must say, you have shown great weakness in letting that young fellow, who does not suit her in any respect, get such hold upon her fancy.”

“You are quite right; but the thing began in a childish friendship; she and Felix played together.  You came much later; and it is a proof of the great esteem in which we hold you, that when you made your offer we renounced our earlier projects.”

“You did, yes,” said la Peyrade, “and with some literary manias —­which, after all, are frequently full of sense and wit—­you have a heart of gold; with you friendship is a sure thing, and you know what you mean.  But Brigitte is another matter; you’ll see, when you propose to her to hasten the marriage, what a resistance she will make.”

“I don’t agree with you.  I think that Brigitte has always wanted you and still wants you for son-in-law—­if I may so express myself.  But whether she does or not, I beg you to believe that in all important matters I know how to have my will obeyed.  Only, let us come now to a distinct understanding of what you wish; then we can start with the right foot foremost, and you’ll see that all will go well.”

“I wish,” replied la Peyrade, “to put the last touches to your pamphlet; for, above all things, I think of you.”

“Certainly,” said Thuillier, “we ought not to sink in port.”

“Well, in consequence of the feeling that I am oppressed, stultified by the prospect of a marriage still so doubtful, I am certain that not a page of manuscript could be got out of me in any form, until the question is settled.”

“Very good,” said Thuillier; “then how do you present that question?”

“Naturally, if Celeste’s decision be against me, I should wish an immediate solution.  If I am condemned to make a marriage of convenience I ought to lose no time in taking the opportunity I mentioned to you.”

“So be it; but what time do you intend to allow us?”

“I should think that in fifteen days a girl might be able to make up her mind.”

“Undoubtedly,” replied Thuillier; “but it is very repugnant to me to let Celeste decide without appeal.”

“For my part, I will take that risk; in any case, I shall be rid of uncertainty; and that is really my first object.  Between ourselves, I am not risking as much as you think.  It will take more than fifteen days for a son of Phellion, in other words, obstinacy incarnate in silliness, to have done with philosophical hesitations; and it is very certain that Celeste will not accept him for a husband unless he gives her some proofs of conversion.”

“That’s probable.  But suppose Celeste tries to dawdle; suppose she refuses to accept the alternative?”