“Pardon me, you are right. I am a brute. But I was going to tell you that I met M. de Morcerf the other day.”
“Well?”
“Monsieur Franz is his friend, you know.”
“What then?”
“Monsieur de Morcerf has received a letter from Franz, announcing his immediate return.”
Valentine turned pale, and leaned her hand against the gate.
“Ah heavens, if it were that! But no, the communication would not come through Madame de Villefort.”
“Why not?”
“Because—I scarcely know why—but it has appeared as if Madame de Villefort secretly objected to the marriage, although she did not choose openly to oppose it.”
“Is it so? Then I feel as if I could adore Madame de Villefort.”
“Do not be in such a hurry to do that,” said Valentine, with a sad smile.
“If she objects to your marrying M. d’Épinay, she would be all the more likely to listen to any other proposition.”
“No, Maximilian, it is not suitors to which Madame de Villefort objects, it is marriage itself.”
“Marriage? If she dislikes that so much, why did she ever marry herself?”
“You do not understand me, Maximilian. About a year ago, I talked of retiring to a convent. Madame de Villefort, in spite of all the remarks