ll round the room. I was vastly amused. Then we came to
explanations. I put the case before him, that you were in love with his
daughter, without my consent, but with perfectly honorable intentions;
that I had guessed it from your letters, from your unpardonable neglect
of your duties to your family, and that I hurried hither from Bourges
to take in the situation. With that I concluded, and waited for him to
develop. There are occasions when you must let people develop. I could
not jump down his throat with, 'Sir, would you kindly tell me whether
your daughter is betrothed or not?' You follow me? He thought, no doubt,
I had come to ask for his daughter's hand, and passing one hand over his
forehead, he replied, 'Sir, I feel greatly flattered by your proposal,
and I should certainly give it my serious attention, were it not that my
daughter's hand is already sought by the son of an old schoolfellow
of mine, which circumstance, as you will readily understand, does not
permit of my entertaining an offer which otherwise should have received
the most mature consideration.' I had learned what I came for without
risking anything. Well, I didn't conceal from him that, so far as I was
concerned, I would rather you took your wife from the country than that
you brought home the most charming Parisienne; and that the Mouillards
from father to son had always taken their wives from Bourges. He entered
perfectly into my sentiments, and we parted the best of friends. Now, my
boy, the facts are ascertained: Mademoiselle Charnot is another's;
you must get your mourning over and start with me to-night. To-morrow
morning we shall be in Bourges, and you'll soon be laughing over your
Parisian delusions, I warrant you!"

I had heard my uncle out without interrupting him, though wrath,
astonishment, and my habitual respect for M. Mouillard were struggling
for the mastery within me. I needed all my strength of mind to answer,
with apparent calm.

"Yesterday, uncle, I had not made up my mind; today I have."

"You are coming?"

"I am not. Your action in this matter, uncle--I do not know if you are
aware of it--has been perfectly unheard-of. I can not acknowledge your
right to act thus. It puts between you and me two hundred miles of rail,
and that forever. Do you understand me? You have taken the liberty of
disclosing a secret which was not yours to tell; you have revealed
a passion which, as it was hopeless, should not have been further
ment