that I loved, and would never love or marry any one but you--you or the
convent. Yes, I had come to that! My friends had told their brothers and
cousins, who had repeated it to you (just what I wanted), but it put me
out of the race. Dare to say, sir, that it is not all true, strictly
true!"

"I am saying nothing--?"

"Because you are overcome, crushed by the evidence. You say nothing now,
but what did you say last year? Last year! When I think that we could
have been married since last year! A year, a whole year lost! And it was
so long, and it could have been so short! Well, he was there, at the
Fresnes' ball. He condescended to do me the honor of dancing three times
with me. I came home intoxicated, absolutely intoxicated with joy. But
that great happiness did not last long, for this is what that Gontran
the next day said to his friend Robert d'Aigremont, who told his sister
Gabrielle, who repeated it to me, that he saw clearly that they wished
to marry him to his cousin Marceline. I had, the day before, literally
thrown myself into his arms; he had thought right, from pure goodness of
heart, to show some pity for the love of the little school-girl, so he
had resolved to dance with me; but he had done, quite done--he wouldn't
be caught again. He would keep carefully away from coming-out balls;
they were too dangerous a form of gayety. Marriage did not tempt him in
the least. He had not had enough of a bachelor's life yet--besides, he
knew of nothing more absurd than those marriages between cousins. The
true pleasure of marriage, he said, must be to put into one's life
something new and unexpected, and to call by her first name, all at
once, on Tuesday morning, a person whom one didn't so call Monday night.
But a person whom one already knew well, where would be the pleasure? He
made a movement, Aunt Louise; did you see?"