“Upon my word,” said Madame Granson, “du Bousquier is not only a monster, he is a villain. When a man has done a wrong like that, he ought to pay the indemnity. Isn’t it his place rather than ours to look after the girl?--who, to tell you the truth, seems to me rather questionable; there are plenty of better men in Alencon than that cynic du Bousquier. A girl must be depraved, indeed, to go after him.” “Cynic! Your son teaches you to talk Latin, my dear, which is wholly incomprehensible. Certainly I don’t wish to excuse Monsieur du Bousquier; but pray explain to me why a woman is depraved because she prefers one man to another.” “My dear cousin, suppose you married my son Athanase; nothing could be more natural. He is young and handsome, full of promise, and he will be the glory of Alencon; and yet everybody will exclaim against you: evil tongues will say all sorts of things; jealous women will accuse you of depravity,--but what will that matter? you will be loved, and loved truly. If Athanase seemed to you an idiot, my dear, it is that he has too many ideas; extremes meet. He lives the life of a girl of fifteen; he has never wallowed in the impurities of Paris, not he! Well, change the terms, as my poor husband used to say; it is the same thing with du Bousquier in connection with Suzanne. _You_ would be calumniated; but in the case of du Bousquier, the charge would be true. Don’t you understand me?” “No more than if you were talking Greek,” replied Mademoiselle Cormon, who opened her eyes wide, and strained all the forces of her intellect. “Well, cousin, if I must dot all the i’s, it is impossible for Suzanne to love du Bousquier. And if the heart counts for nothing in this affair--” “But, cousin, what do people love with if not their hearts?” Here Madame Granson said to herself, as the chevalier had previously thought: “My poor cousin is altogether too innocent; such stupidity passes all bounds!--Dear child,” she continued aloud, “it seems to me that children are not conceived by the spirit only.” “Why, yes, my dear; the Holy Virgin herself--” “But, my love, du Bousquier isn’t the Holy Ghost!” “True,” said the old maid; “he is a man!--a man whose personal appearance makes him dangerous enough for his friends to advise him to marry.” “You could yourself bring about that result, cousin.” “How so?” said the old maid, with the meekness of Christian charity. “By not receiving him in your house until he marries. You owe it to good morals and to religion to manifest under such circumstances an exemplary displeasure.” “On my return from Prebaudet we will talk further of this, my dear Madame Granson. I will consult my uncle and the Abbe Couturier,” said Mademoiselle Cormon, returning to the salon, where the animation was now at its height.