"If I belonged to the fashionable world of which you speak, monsieur,--if I had a mother and relatives, instead of being a poor orphan,--and M. de Senneterre desired my hand in marriage, would it not be according to the rules of propriety you spoke of just now that Madame de Senneterre should be the first to approach my mother or my relatives in her son's behalf?" "Certainly, mademoiselle, but--" "I have no mother, and I have no relatives," continued Herminie, sadly. "To whom, then, if not to me, should Madame de Senneterre address herself in relation to my marriage?" "One word, mademoiselle, Madame de Senneterre might do this if she approved of the marriage." "And that is precisely why I ask it, M. Olivier." "But Gerald's mother does not even know you, mademoiselle." "If Madame de Senneterre has such a poor opinion of her son as to believe him capable of choosing a wife unworthy of him, she can make all needful inquiries in relation to me. Thank God, I have nothing to fear." "That is true," said Olivier, who had exhausted all his arguments. "So this is my last word, M. Olivier," continued Herminie. "If Madame de Senneterre is not opposed to my marriage with her son, she will prove it by making the kindly overtures I ask; if she does not, she will consider me unworthy to enter her family, and in that case I will never see M. de Senneterre again." "Oh, Mlle. Herminie, if only out of compassion for Gerald--" "Believe me, I am much more in need of pity than M. de Senneterre," said the girl, and, no longer able to restrain her tears, she buried her face in her hands. "I may die of grief, I do not know, but to the last I will at least be worthy of Gerald and of his love." Olivier was in despair, but he could not help admiring this noble pride, though he deeply deplored the consequences so far as Gerald was concerned. Suddenly a loud ring of the door-bell resounded through the room. Herminie sprang up and hastily dried her tears; then, remembering Mlle. de Beaumesnil's note, she said to Olivier: "It must be Ernestine. Poor child, I had forgotten all about her. M. Olivier, will you have the goodness to open the door for me?" "One word more," said Olivier, in earnest, almost solemn tones; "you have no conception of the intensity of Gerald's love for you. You know I am not prone to exaggeration, yet I am afraid, do you hear me, positively afraid, when I think of the possible consequences of your refusal." Herminie trembled at Olivier's ominous words. For a moment she seemed to be torn by conflicting doubts and fears; but she finally triumphed, though the poor girl, exhausted by this mental conflict, answered in tones that were barely audible: "The thought of causing Gerald suffering is terrible to me, for I can judge of his love by my own. My own sorrow, too, enables me to judge what his must be. Nevertheless, I will never sacrifice my dignity, for that is Gerald's as much as mine." "I entreat you, mademoiselle, do not--"