He listened without interruption, playing with the ivory paperknife.  When I reached the date—­it was only last December—­when I saw Jeanne for the first time—­

“That’s enough,” said he, “I know or guess the rest.  Young man, I promised you an answer; this is it—­”

For the moment, I ceased to breathe; my very heart seemed to stop beating.

“My daughter,” went on M. Charnot, “has at this moment several proposals of marriage to choose from.  You see I hide nothing from you.  I have left her time to reflect; she has weighed and compared them all, and communicated to me yesterday the result of her reflections.  To richer and more brilliant matches she prefers an honest man who loves her for herself, and you, Monsieur, are that honest man.”

“Oh, thank you, thank you, Monsieur!” I cried.

“Wait a moment, there are two conditions.”

“Were there ten, I would accept them without question!”

“Don’t hurry.  You will see; one is my daughter’s, the other comes from both of us.”

“You wish me to have some profession, perhaps?”

“No, that’s not it.  Clearly my son-in-law will never sit idle.  Besides, I have some views on that subject, which I will tell you later if I have the chance.  No, the first condition exacted by my daughter, and dictated by a feeling which is very pleasant to me, is that you promise never to leave Paris.”

“That I swear to, with all the pleasure in life!”

“Really?  I feared you had some ties.”

“Not one.”

“Or dislike for Paris.”

“No, Monsieur; only a preference for Paris, with freedom to indulge it.  Your second condition?”

“The second, to which my daughter and I both attach importance, is that you should make your peace with your uncle.  Flamaran tells me you have quarrelled.”

“That is true.”

“I hope it is not a serious difference.  A mere cloud, isn’t it?”

“Unfortunately not.  My uncle is very positive—­”

“But at the same time his heart is in the right place, so far as I could judge from what I saw of him—­in June, I think it was.”

“Yes.”

“You don’t mind taking the first step?”

“I will take as many as may be needed.”

“I was sure you would.  You can not remain on bad terms with your father’s brother, the only relative you have left.  In our eyes this reconciliation is a duty, a necessity.  You should desire it as much as, and even more than, we.”

“I shall use every effort, Monsieur, I promise you.”

“And in that case you will succeed, I feel sure.”

M. Charnot, who had grown very pale, held out his hand to me, and tried hard to smile.

“I think, Monsieur Fabien, that we are quite at one, and that the hour has come—­”

He did not finish the sentence, but rose and went to open a door between two bookcases at the end of the room.