order to prove to her that he could not remain a bachelor forever, and that as Monsieur de Marelle insisted on living, he had been obliged to think of another than herself as his legitimate companion. He felt moved, though, and when he heard her ring his heart began to beat.
She threw herself into his arms, exclaiming: “Good morning, Pretty-boy.” Then, finding his embrace cold, looked at him, and said: “What is the matter with you?”
“Sit down,” he said, “we have to talk seriously.”
She sat down without taking her bonnet off, only turning back her veil, and waited.
He had lowered his eyes, and was preparing the beginning of his speech. He commenced in a low tone of voice: “My dear one, you see me very uneasy, very sad, and very much embarrassed at what I have to admit to you. I love you dearly. I really love you from the bottom of my heart, so that the