"But really," said Camors, who was very pale, "it seems to me you
dispose of the hand of Mademoiselle de Tecle very readily. Mademoiselle
de Tecle is rich and courted on all sides--also, her great-uncle has
ideas of the province, and her mother, ideas of religion, which might
well--"

"I charge myself with all that," interrupted the Marquise.

"What a mania you have for marrying people!"

"Women who do not make love, cousin, always have a mania for
matchmaking."

"But seriously, you will give me a few days for reflection?"

"To reflect about what? Have you not always told me you intended
marrying and have been only waiting the chance? Well, you never can find
a better one than this; and if you let it slip, you will repent the rest
of your life."

"But give me time to consult my family!"

"Your family--what a joke! It seems to me you have reached full age; and
then--what family? Your aunt, Madame de la Roche-Jugan?"

"Doubtless! I do not wish to offend her:"

"Ah, my dear cousin, don't be uneasy; suppress this uneasiness; I assure
you she will be delighted!"

"Why should she?"

"I have my reasons for thinking so;" and the young woman in uttering
these words was seized with a fit of sardonic laughter which came near
convulsion, so shaken were her nerves by the terrible tension.

Camors, to whom little by little the light fell stronger on the more
obscure points of the terrible enigma proposed to him, saw the necessity
of shortening a scene which had overtasked her faculties to an almost
insupportable degree. He rose:

"I am compelled to leave you," he said; "for I am not dining at home.
But I will come to-morrow, if you will permit me."

"Certainly. You authorize me to speak to the General?"

"Well, yes, for I really can see no reasonable objection."

"Very good. I adore you!" said the Marquise. She gave him her hand,
which he kissed and immediately departed.

It would have required a much keener vision than that of M. de
Campvallon to detect any break, or any discordance, in the audacious
comedy which had just been played before him by these two great artists.

The mute play of their eyes alone could have betrayed them; and that he
could not see.

As to their tranquil, easy, natural dialogue there was not in it a word
which he could seize upon, and which did not remove all his disquietude,
and confound all his suspicions. From this moment, and ever afterward,
every shadow was effaced from his mi