“You know as well as I that you are of age.”

“I know as well as you that I never will be content without your consent.  Here once more as in the Engadine, I say, ’Either he or no one.’”

“Did I not warn you that when once a formula has been pronounced, one is apt to keep on repeating it forever?”

“Either he or no one:  that is my last word.  Would you not rather that it should be he?  Are you willing to accept him?”

“I will submit.”

“With a good grace?”

“With resignation.”

“With cheerful resignation?”

“I shall certainly do my best to acquire it; or, rather, if he makes you happy, I shall welcome him all the days of my life; in the contrary case, I will repeat, morning and evening, like Mme. de Lorcy:  ’You would not listen to me; you ought to have believed me.’”

“It is agreed; you are a good father, and now we are in perfect harmony,” she replied, impulsively seizing his two hands, and pressing them in her own.

He watched her a moment between his half-closed eyes, and then he cried, half resentfully: 

“But, mon Dieu why do you love this man?”

She replied, in a low voice:  “Because I love him; this is my sole reason; but I find it good.”

“Certainly most decisive.  But, come, let us go quickly,” he replied, rising.  “I fear that my retorts and crucibles, if they listen to you much longer, will fall into a syncope as prolonged as that of M. Larinski.  Was ever such a debate heard of in a chemical laboratory?”

As soon as dinner was over, M. Moriaz made ready to repair to Maisons, where Abbe Miollens passed the summer in the vicinity of Mme. de Lorcy.  Mlle. Moiseney followed him to the carriage, and said: 

“You have a remarkable daughter, monsieur!  With what courage she has assumed her role!  With what resolution she has renounced an impossible happiness!  Did you observe her during dinner?  How tranquil she was! how attentive!  Is she not astonishing?”

“As astonishing as you are sagacious,” he replied.

“Ah! undoubtedly; I never thought that she loved him so much as you imagine I did:  but he pleased her; she admired him.  Did she ever utter a word of complaint, or a sigh, on learning the cruel truth? what strength of mind! what equability of temperament! what nobility of sentiment!  You do not admire her enough, monsieur; you are not proud enough of having such a daughter.  As to me, I glory in having been of some value in her education.  I always made a point of developing her judgment, and putting her on her guard against all erratic tendencies.  Yes, I can safely say that I took great pains to cultivate and fortify her reason.”

“I thank you with all my heart,” rejoined M. Moriaz, leaning back in one corner of the carriage; “you can most assuredly boast of having accomplished a marvellous work; but I beg of you, mademoiselle, when you have finished your discourse, will you kindly say to the coachman that I am ready to start?”