determination as
marriage. A wife is not a mistress. In short, before taking an irrevocable
step I would beg of you to think well and further over it."

"My good friend," said the count, "I do not wish, and I believe quite
sincerely that I cannot, do so. You know my ideas. Genuine passions always
have the best of it, and I am not quite sure that honor itself is a very
effective argument against them. As to setting up reason against them, it
is worse than folly. Besides, come, Lucan, what is there so unreasonable
in the simple fact of marrying a person I love? I don't see that it is
absolutely necessary for a man not to love his wife--Well! can I rely upon
you?"

"Completely so," said Lucan, taking his hand. "I raised my objections; now
I am wholly at your service. I shall speak to Clotilde in a moment. She is
going to see her daughter this afternoon. Come and dine with us to-night;
but summon up all your courage, for, after all, success is very
uncertain."

Monsieur de Lucan found it no difficult task to gain the cause of Monsieur
de Moras with Clotilde. After hearing him, not, however, without
interrupting him more than once with exclamations of surprise:

"Mon Dieu!" she replied, "that would be an ideal! Not only would that
marriage put an end to projects that break my heart, but it offers all the
conditions of happiness that I can possibly think of for my daughter; and
furthermore, the friendship that binds you to Pierre would naturally, some
day, bring about a _rapprochement_ between his wife and yourself. All that
would be too fortunate; but how could we hope for such a complete and
sudden revolution in Julia's ideas? She will not even allow me to deliver
my message to the end."

She left, palpitating with anxiety. She found Julia alone in her room,
trying on before a mirror her novice's dress; the vail that was to conceal
her luxuriant hair was laid upon the bed; she was simply dressed in a
long, white woolen tunic, whose folds she was engaged in adjusting.

She blushed when she saw her mother come in; then with an insipient laugh:

"Cymodocea in the circus, isn't it, mother?"

Clotilde made no answer; she had joined her hands in a supplicating
attitude, and wept as she looked at her. Julia was moved by that mute
sorrow; two tears rolled from her eyes, and she threw her arms around her
mother's neck; then, taking a seat by her side:

"What can I do?" she said; "I, too, feel some regret at heart, for, aft