"And no one would suspect it, because she makes no pretensions." "Her aunt has no other heir; she's an excellent match!" "The man who gets her won't make a bad speculation!" "And he can be sure of his wife's virtue." Annoyed by my silence, my sister addressed herself to me at last. "Well, Eugène, tell us what you think of Mademoiselle de Pontchartrain." "My dear girl, what do you expect me to add to your eulogies of her?" "Aren't you of our opinion?" "Why, yes, pretty nearly." "Oh! you don't choose to admit it, but I saw well enough that you thought her pretty." "Pretty; to be sure she is." "And well bred." "As to that, I think so, but----" "In short, she pleased you, my dear brother?" "Pleased me! oh! come now! I haven't said anything to prove----" "But I can't see why it isn't perfectly natural. Surely your lady friends in Paris can't resemble the charming Pélagie?" "Resemble her! Oh! as to that, I agree with you absolutely." Amélie seemed quite content; in vain did I tell her that she was mistaken; she was persuaded that I was in love with Pélagie. Déneterre kept repeating that it would be an excellent match; and as I could not make them stop talking, I adopted the expedient of going to bed. For several days nothing unusual disturbed the even tenor of life under my sister's roof. Every evening I went with her to some reception; for when I attempted to stay behind, she always found some way to make me do as she wished. So that I saw Mademoiselle Pélagie every evening, for she accompanied her aunt, who never failed to be on hand for her game of whist or reversis, which she even played in the morning, with three dowagers who had done nothing else for fifteen years, and in whose eyes their game was of such importance that one wept when her king was trumped, and another fell ill because she had discarded the knave of hearts. Pélagie took part in the minor games, but she continued to be as shy and embarrassed as on the first day I saw her. As she was very pretty, the other young ladies had no mercy on her. Some of the young lady killers of the town undertook to make to her the pretty, gallant speeches which men of wit no longer venture to use, because they are too trite. But the wit of the dandies of Melun seemed to make no impression on Pélagie's mind; she listened very coldly to their compliments, and made no other reply than a low bow. The young men, vexed to produce so little effect, went elsewhere to play the butterfly. I alone remained true to Mademoiselle de Pontchartrain, and I alone obtained from her replies not quite so laconic. To be sure, I paid her no embarrassing compliments, and placed myself on her level by talking with her of the simplest subjects. She seemed a little less timid with me; she began to raise her eyes when she answered me; and twice I fancied that she actually smiled at me. Decidedly I was a favored mortal.