her mother, who was smiling at the millionaire, seeming, as her father
did, so happy,--so happy that the poor girl found strength to hide her
surprise and her violent repulsion. During the conversation which then
took place something was said of Graslin's health. The banker looked
naively into the mirror, with bevelled edges in an ebony frame.

"Mademoiselle," he said, "I am not good-looking."

Thereupon he proceeded to explain the blotches on his face as the
result of his overworked life. He related how he had constantly
disobeyed his physician's advice; and remarked that he hoped to change
his appearance altogether when he had a wife to rule his household,
and take better care of him than he took of himself.

"Is a man married for his face, compatriot?" said Sauviat, giving the
other a hearty slap on the thigh.

Graslin's speech went straight to those natural feelings which, more
or less, fill the heart of every woman. The thought came into
Veronique's mind that her face, too, had been destroyed by a horrible
disease, and her Christian modesty rebuked her first impression.

Hearing a whistle in the street, Graslin went downstairs, followed by
Sauviat. They speedily returned. The office-boy had brought the first
bouquet, which was a little late in coming. When the banker exhibited
this mound of exotic flowers, the fragrance of which completely filled
the room, and offered it to his future wife, Veronique felt a rush of
conflicting emotions; she was suddenly plunged into the ideal and
fantastic world of tropical nature. Never before had she seen white
camelias, never had she smelt the fragrance of the Alpine cistus, the