“Uncle, I will not deceive you.  Your letter arrived after the event.  The cause of the rupture was quite apart from that.”

“And the cause was?”

“The sudden shattering of my illusions.”

“Men still have illusions about these creatures?”

“She was a perfect creature, and worthy of all respect.”

“Come, come!”

“I must ask you to believe me.  I thought her affections free.”

“And she was—­”

“Betrothed.”

“Really now, that’s very funny!”

“I did not find it funny, uncle.  I suffered bitterly, I assure you.”

“I dare say, I dare say.  The illusions you spoke of anyhow, it’s all over now?”

“Quite over.”

“Well, that being the case, Fabien, I am ready to help you.  Confess frankly to me.  How much is required?”

“How much?”

“Yes, you want something, I dare say, to close the incident.  You know what I mean, eh? to purchase what I might call the veil of oblivion.  How much?”

“Why, nothing at all, uncle.”

“Don’t be afraid, Fabien; I’ve got the money with me.”

“You have quite mistaken the case, uncle; there is no question of money.  I must tell you again that the young lady is of the highest respectability.”

My uncle stared.

“I assure you, uncle.  I am speaking of Mademoiselle Jeanne Charnot.”

“I dare say.”

“The daughter of a member of the Institute.”

“What!”

My uncle gave a jump and stood still.

“Yes, of Mademoiselle Charnot, whom I was in love with and wished to marry.  Do you understand?”

He leaned against the railing and folded his arms.

“Marry!  Well, I never!  A woman you wanted to marry?”

“Why, yes; what’s the matter?”

“To marry!  How could I have imagined such a thing?  Here were matters of the utmost importance going on, and I knew nothing about them.  Marry!  You might be announcing your betrothal to me at this moment if you’d-Still you are quite sure she is betrothed?”

“Larive told me so.”

“Who’s Larive?”

“A friend of mine.”

“Oh, so you have only heard it through a friend?”

“Yes, uncle.  Do you really think there may still be hope, that I still have a chance?”

“No, no; not the slightest.  She is sure to be betrothed, very much betrothed.  I tell you I am glad she is.  The Mouillards do not come to Paris for their wives, Fabien—­we do not want a Parisienne to carry on the traditions of the family, and the practice.  A Parisienne!  I shudder at the thought of it.  Fabien, you will leave Paris with me to-morrow.  That’s understood.”

“Certainly not, uncle.”

“Your reasons?”

“Because I can not leave my friends without saying goodby, and because I have need to reflect before definitely binding myself to the legal profession.”