“Here, Bernard; come and tell Edmee that you love her; that you will make her happy; that you have got rid of your old faults.  Do something to get yourself accepted; for things cannot go on as they are.  Our position with our neighbours is unbearable; and before I go down to the grave I should like to see my daughter’s honour cleared from stain, and to feel sure that some stupid caprice of hers will not cast her into a convent, when she ought to be filling that position in society to which she is entitled, and which I have worked all my life to win for her.  Come, Bernard, at her feet, lad!  Have the wit to say something that will persuade her!  Otherwise I shall think—­God forgive me!—­that it is you that do not love her and do not honestly wish to marry her.”

“I!  Great heavens!” I exclaimed.  “Not wish to marry her—­when for seven years I have had no other thought; when that is the one wish of my heart, and the only happiness my mind can conceive!”

Then I poured forth all the thoughts that the sincerest passion could suggest.  She listened to me in silence, and without withdrawing her hands, which I covered with kisses.  But there was a serious expression in her eyes, and the tone of her voice made me tremble when, after reflecting a few moments, she said: 

“Father, you should not doubt my word; I have promised to marry Bernard; I promised him, and I promised you; it is certain, therefore, that I shall marry him.”

Then she added, after a fresh pause, and in a still severe tone: 

“But if, father, you believe that you are on the brink of the grave, what sort of heart do you suppose I can have, that you bid me think only of myself, and put on my wedding-dress in the hour of mourning for you?  If, on the contrary, you are, as I believe, still full of vigour, in spite of your sufferings, and destined to enjoy the love of your family for many a long year yet, why do you urge me so imperiously to cut short the time I have requested?  Is not the question important enough to demand my most serious reflection?  A contract which is to bind me for the rest of my life, and on which depends, I do not say my happiness, for that I would gladly sacrifice to your least wish, but the peace of my conscience and the dignity of my conduct (since no woman can be sufficiently sure of herself to answer for a future which has been fettered against her will), does not such a contract bid me weigh all its risks and all its advantages for several years at least?”

“Good God!” said the chevalier.  “Have you not been weighing all this for the last seven years?  You ought to have arrived at some conclusion about your cousin by now.  If you are willing to marry him, marry him; but if not, for God’s sake say so, and let another man come forward.”

“Father,” replied Edmee, somewhat coldly, “I shall marry none but him.”

“‘None but him’ is all very well,” said the chevalier, tapping the logs with the tongs; “but that does not necessarily mean that you will marry him.”