"Of course!" said Gerald. "If she is actuated by mercenary motives, it becomes nothing more nor less than a business transaction." "And disgraceful accordingly," added the old sailor. "Very well, then," continued Olivier, "why should a poor man,--because, Gerald, you are poor in comparison with Mlle. de Beaumesnil,--why, then, I ask, should you be censured for marrying that young lady if you love her sincerely in spite of her millions,--in short, if you love her as sincerely as if she were without name and without fortune?" "That is true, M. Gerald," chimed in the commander; "if one loves as an honest man should love, if one is certain that he loves not the money, but the woman, one's conscience is clear. What right can any one have to reproach him? In short, I advise you to see Mlle. de Beaumesnil first, and decide afterwards." "Yes, that will, I believe, be best," Gerald replied. "That will decide everything. Ah, I was wise to come and talk over my plans with you, commander, and with you, Olivier." "Nonsense, M. Gerald, as if, in the refined circles in which you move, there were not plenty of persons who would have said the same things Olivier and I have just said to you." "Ah, don't you believe it," responded Gerald, shrugging his shoulders. Then, more gravely, he added: "It is the same in the middle classes, if not worse. Everybody cares only for money." "But why the devil is it that Olivier and I are so superior to all the rest of the world, M. Gerald?" asked the commander, laughing. "Why?" repeated Gerald, with much feeling. "It is because you, commander, have led for forty years the hard, rough, dangerous, unselfish life of a sailor; it is because while you were leading this life you acquired the Christian virtues of resignation and contentment with little; it is because, ignorant of the cowardly concessions of society in these matters, you consider a man who marries for money as dishonourable as a man who cheats at cards, or shirks his duty on the battle-field. Am I not right, commander?" "But you see it all seems so very plain to me, M. Gerald, that--" "Oh, yes, very plain to you and to Olivier, who has led, like me, though for a much longer time, the life of a soldier,--a life that teaches one unselfishness and brotherly feeling. Is this not true?" "My brave, kind-hearted Gerald!" cried the young soldier, as deeply moved as his friend. "But you must admit that, though the life of a soldier may have developed your natural generosity, it certainly did not endow you with that virtue. You, alone, perhaps, of all the young men in your rank of life, were capable of realising the sort of cowardice one manifested in sending some poor devil to the wars to be killed in your place,--you, alone, too, seem to feel some scruples with regard to a marriage that all the others would gladly contract at any cost."