. . . There are many young ladies who would
have been by no means pleased."
"And why, I should like to know? There is nothing disagreeable about the
fellow. When he has been polished a little . . ."
"He will always be perfectly ugly."
"My dear Leblanc, he is far from ugly. You are too old; you are no
longer a judge of young men."
Their conversation was interrupted by the chevalier, who came in to look
for a book.
"Mademoiselle Leblanc is here, is she?" he said in a very quiet tone.
"I thought you were alone with my son. Well, Edmee, have you had a talk
with him? Did you tell him that you would be his sister? Are you pleased
with her, Bernard?"
Such answers as I gave could compromise no one. As a rule, they
consisted of four or five incoherent words crippled by shame. M. de
Mauprat returned to his study, and I had sat down again, hoping that
my cousin was going to send away her duenna and talk to me. But they
exchanged a few words in a whisper; the duenna remained, and two mortal
hours passed without my daring to stir from my chair. I believe Edmee
really was asleep this time. When the bell rang for dinner her father
came in again to fetch me, and before leaving her room he said to her
again:
"Well, have you had a chat?"
"Yes, father, dear," she replied, with an assurance that astounded me.
My cousin's behaviour seemed to me to prove beyond doubt that she
had merely been trifling with me, and that she was not afraid of my
reproaches.
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