“Yes, but that isn’t the same thing; it’s much pleasanter to be alone! Dear Eugénie! I would like to pass my life with you and nobody else!” “Oh! you would very soon get tired of that!” “Tired of being with you! Impossible! But perhaps you yourself would not be willing to sacrifice to me the attentions of this mob of young men who sigh for you.” “Oh! how mean it is to say that! When I am bored to death everywhere where you are not! Do you mean to say that I listen to the compliments and flattery of a lot of young men? Nonsense! come to the piano, monsieur!” “Just a moment!” I adored her, I was certain that she loved me, and yet I trembled at the thought of mentioning the word marriage! What a strange thing! To hesitate, to be embarrassed about mentioning to the person you love, a bond which you both desire! I had never hesitated with a pretty woman about overcoming her modesty and abusing her weakness; it seems to me that it requires more courage to behave oneself than to misbehave. I held Eugénie’s hand, which she abandoned to me; I could not speak, but I covered her hand with kisses. I did not know if she guessed all that was going on in my heart; but a deep flush covered her cheeks, and she turned her eyes away in order to avoid mine. At last I stammered in an undertone and with an almost shamefaced air: “Eugénie--will you be my wife?” She did not answer, but her hand pressed mine affectionately; her bosom rose and fell violently; I met her eyes, which she tried to avert, and they were wet with tears. How sweet are the tears which pleasure causes one to shed! I fell at Eugénie’s feet, reiterating my oath to love her all my life. I was still at her feet--one is so comfortable in that position before the woman whom one adores! It has been said, I believe, that nothing is more absurd than a man at a woman’s feet; that may be true with respect to a woman who resists us, but with her who loves us, I can see nothing absurd in that position--I was still at her feet, when the door of the salon opened; it was Madame Dumeillan. She found me at her daughter’s feet. I was not confused at being surprised in that attitude, for I had no guilty designs; and Eugénie herself looked at her mother without alarm; but she said to her, with a blush: “Mamma, he swears that he will love me all his life; he asks me if I will be his wife.” The mother smiled; we had told her nothing new. But I ran to her, seized her hands and pressed them in mine, and begged her not to stand in the way of my happiness and to call me her son. “What answer has Eugénie given you?” asked Madame Dumeillan kindly. “I am inclined to spoil her a little, you know; if she doesn’t want to marry you, I warn you that I shall not force her.”