is. During his convalescence he was walking one day near the square
of the Bon Marche when he saw Rosine. He stood still a moment but as
she came forward, without hesitation, they went on into the Square
and began a long conversation, which, beginning by embarrassment,
and interrupted by numerous reproaches and avowals, led finally to a
perfect understanding between them. They were so absorbed in their
tender explanations, that they did not see Madame Clerambault when she
came near, and the good lady, overcome by this unexpected meeting,
hurried home to tell the news to her husband. In spite of their
estrangement, she could not keep this to herself. He listened to her
indignant recital, for she could not bear that her daughter should
have anything to do with a man whose family had affronted them; and
when she had finished he said nothing at first, according to his
present habit, until at last he shook his head smiling, and said:

"Good enough."

Madame Clerambault stopped short, shrugged her shoulders, turned to
go, but with her hand on the door of her room she looked back and
said:

"These people insulted you; Rosine and you agreed to have nothing more
to do with them, and now, _your daughter_ is making advances to this
man who has refused her, and you say it is 'good enough.' I can't
understand you any longer, you must be out of your mind."

Clerambault tried to show her that his daughter's happiness did not
consist in agreement with his ideas, and that Rosine was quite right
to get rid of the consequences of his foolishness where they affected
herself.

"Your foolishness ... that is the first word of sense that you have
said in years."

"You see yourself that I am right," said he, and made her promise to
let Rosine arrange her romance as she pleased.

The girl was radiant when she came in, but she said nothing of what
had passed. Madame Clerambault held her tongue with great difficulty,
and the father saw with tender amusement the happiness that shone
once more on the face of his child. He did not know exactly what had
happened, but he guessed that Rosine had thrown him and his ideas
overboard--sweetly of course, but still,--the lovers had made it up at
their parents' expense, and both had blamed with admirable justice the
old people's exaggerations on either side. The years in the trenches
had emancipated Daniel from the narrow fanaticism of his family,
without impairing his patriotism, and Rosine in exchan