“Uncle,” I answered, after listening to all his magnificent offers in absolute silence, “I thank you for all you wish to do for me; but it is not right that I should avail myself of your kindness.  I have no need of a fortune.  A man like myself wants nothing but a little bread, a gun, a hound, and the first inn he comes to on the edge of the wood.  Since you are good enough to act as my guardian pay me the income on my eighth of the fief and do not ask me to learn that Latin bosh.  A man of birth is sufficiently well educated when he knows how to bring down a snipe and sign his name.  I have no desire to be seigneur of Roche-Mauprat; it is enough to have been a slave there.  You are most kind, and on my honour I love you; but I have very little love for conditions.  I have never done anything from interested motives.  I would rather remain an ignoramus than develop a pretty wit for another’s dole.  Moreover, I could never consent to make such a hole in my cousin’s fortune; though I know perfectly well that she would willingly sacrifice a part of her dowry to obtain release from . . .”

Edmee, who until now had remained very pale and apparently heedless of my words, all at once cast a lightning glance at me and said with an air of unconcern: 

“To obtain a release from what, may I ask, Bernard?”

I saw that, in spite of this show of courage, she was very much perturbed; for she broke her fan while shutting it.  I answered her with a look in which the artless malice of the rustic must have been apparent: 

“To obtain release, cousin, from a certain promise you made me at Roche-Mauprat.”

She grew paler than ever, and on her face I could see an expression of terror, but ill-disguised by a smile of contempt.

“What was the promise you made him, Edmee?” asked the chevalier, turning towards her ingenuously.

At the same time the abbe pressed my arm furtively, and I understood that my cousin’s confessor was in possession of the secret.

I shrugged my shoulders; their fears did me an injustice, though they roused my pity.

“She promised me,” I replied, with a smile, “that she would always look upon me as a brother and a friend.  Were not those your words, Edmee, and do you think it is possible to make them good by mere money?”

She rose as if filled with new life, and, holding out her hand to me, said in a voice full of emotion: 

“You are right, Bernard; yours is a noble heart, and I should never forgive myself if I doubted it for a moment.”

I caught sight of a tear on the edge of her eye-lid, and I pressed her hand somewhat too roughly, no doubt, for she could not restrain a little cry, followed, however, by a charming smile.  The chevalier clasped me to his breast, and the abbe rocked about in his chair and exclaimed repeatedly: 

“How beautiful!  How noble!  How very beautiful!  Ah,” he added, “that is something that cannot be learnt from books,” turning to the chevalier.  “God writes his words and breathes forth his spirit upon the hearts of the young.”