The progress I had made intellectually seemed to satisfy Edmee.

"I am not astonished at it," she said. "I could see it in your letters;
but I rejoice at it with a mother's pride."

My good uncle was no longer strong enough to engage in the old stormy
discussions; and I really think that if he had retained his strength
he would have been somewhat grieved to find that I was no longer the
indefatigable opponent who had formerly irritated him so persistently.
He even made a few attempts at contradiction to test me; but at this
time I should have considered it a crime to have gratified him. He
showed a little temper at this, and seemed to think that I treated him
too much as an old man. To console him I turned the conversation to the
history of the past, to the years through which he himself had lived,
and questioned him on many points wherein his experience served him
better than my knowledge. In this way I obtained many healthy notions
for the guidance of my own conduct, and at the same time I fully
satisfied his legitimate _amour propre_. He now conceived a friendship
for me from genuine sympathy, just as formerly he had adopted me from
natural generosity and family pride. He did not disguise from me that
his great desire, before falling into the sleep that knows no waking,
was to see me married to Edmee; and when I told him that this was the
one thought of my life, the one wish of my soul, he said:

"I know, I know. Everything depends on her, and I think she can no
longer have any reasons for hesitation. . . . At all events," he added,
after a moment's silence and with a touch of peevishness, "I cannot see
any that she could allege at present."