"To be sure. I began, you know, by telling you that, monseigneur. As to the other thing, doubtless more impossible still, it simply concerns your consent to the marriage of a young man whom you have brought up." "I!" cried the archduke, as if he could not believe his ears. "I, consent to the marriage of Count Frantz?" "I do not know if he is a count, but I do know that his name is Frantz, since it was told me this morning by Mlle. Antonine Hubert, an angel of sweetness and beauty, whom I have loved from her childhood, and for whom I feel the tenderness of a mother and a sister." "Madame, in three hours from this moment Count Frantz will have left Paris,--that is my reply." "My God, monseigneur, that is admirable! All this is impossible, absolutely impossible. I say again, I admit that it is impossible!" "Then, madame, why do you ask it?" "Why, to obtain it, of course, monseigneur." "What! notwithstanding all I have just said to you, you dare hope still?" "I have that presumption, monseigneur." "Such self-conceit--" "Is very modest because I am not counting on my presence." "On what, then, madame, do you rely?" "On my absence, monseigneur," said Madeleine, rising. "On your absence?" "On your remembrance, if you prefer it." "You are going," said the prince, unable to conceal his regret and vexation, "you are going so soon?" "It is my last and only means of bringing you to an agreement." "But really, madame----" "Wait, monseigneur, do you wish me to tell you what is going to happen?" "Let us hear, madame." "I am going to leave you. At first you will be relieved of a great burden; my presence will no longer beset you with all sorts of temptations, which have their agony as well as their charm; you will banish me entirely from your thoughts. Unfortunately, by degrees, and in spite of yourself, I will return to occupy your thoughts; my mysterious, veiled figure will follow you everywhere; you will feel still more how little there is of the platonic in your inclination toward me, and these sentiments will become only more irritating and more obstinate. To-morrow, the next day, perhaps, reflecting that, after all, I asked noble and generous actions only of you, you will bitterly regret my departure, but it will be too late, monseigneur." "Too late?" "Too late for you; not for me. I have taken it into my head that Colonel Pernetti will have his pardon, and that Count Frantz will marry Antonine. You understand, monseigneur, that it must be." "In spite of me?" "In spite of you." "That would be rather difficult."