"You must know that I have not requested an important interview with you merely to discuss a question which has been a matter of contention ever since the world began, viz., which is better, a marriage of convenience or a love match. We should never come to any agreement; besides, we have to deal with an accomplished fact: Gerald's marriage with Mlle. de Beaumesnil is now an impossibility, and you may as well make the best of it. That young lady's millions will never belong to your son, who, fine fellow that he is, cares nothing whatever about them." "Yes, and thanks to such idiotic disinterestedness, or rather such shameful indifference to enhancing the splendour of their name, the scions of our most illustrious houses are lapsing into a disgraceful mediocrity. It was for this very reason that my father and my husband--by neglecting the means of reestablishing the fortune of which that infamous revolution stripped us--left my son and my daughters almost penniless. In the present condition of affairs, I have little chance of marrying off my daughters, while Gerald, if he were rich, could help his sisters pecuniarily, and they would thus be able to secure eligible partis. And you wonder that I am overwhelmed with despair at the ruin of my plans,--at the destruction of my hope of securing for my son a fortune suited to his rank!" "I suppose that you love Gerald after your fashion. It is not a very commendable fashion, still you do love him, I suppose." "Yes, I do love him--I love him as I ought to love him, too." "We will see about that." "What do you mean, monsieur?" "In the first place, it is my duty to tell you that Gerald is deeply in love, and that--" Madame de Senneterre sprang up out of her armchair, fairly purple with anger, and, interrupting the hunchback, exclaimed, vehemently: "It is outrageous! I have suspected it all along! The mystery is cleared up now. It is my son who has refused, for that little Beaumesnil was wild about him. I could see that at the ball, and it is you, you, monsieur, who have had a hand in this abominable intrigue. I will never see my son again. He has no heart, no soul!" The marquis had anticipated this explosion, and, without taking the slightest notice of it, continued: "You interrupted me, madame. I was about to say that Mlle. de Beaumesnil, far from being in love with Gerald, entertains a very ardent affection for another man." "The bold-faced hussy!" exclaimed the duchess with such naivete that the marquis could not help smiling slightly, in spite of his anxiety. "I also feel it my duty to inform you, madame, that Gerald is in love with a young girl who is in every respect worthy of his love."