French fiction -- Translations into English; Paris (France) -- Fiction
“The nobility! That of our country might be tolerated, but foreign
noblemen are mere adventurers.”
“It is well known that the Panines come from Posen--the papers have
mentioned them more than twenty times.”
“Why is he not in his own country?”
“He is exiled.”
“He has done something wrong, then!”
“He has, like all his family, fought for independence.”
“Then he is a revolutionist!”
“A patriot.”
“You are very kind to tell me all that.”
“I may hate Prince Panine,” said Pierre, simply, “but that is no reason
why I should not be just to him.”
“So be it; he is an exceptional being, a great citizen, a hero, if you
like. But that does not prove that he will make my daughter happy. And
if you take my advice, we shall send him about his business in a very
short time.”
Madame Desvarennes was excited and paced hurriedly up and down the room.
The idea of resuming the offensive after she had been forced to act on
the defensive for months past pleased her. She thought Pierre argued too
much. A woman of action, she did not understand why Pierre had not yet
come to a resolution. She felt that she must gain his confidence.
“You are master of the situation,” she said. “The Prince does not suit
me--”
“Micheline loves him,” interrupted Pierre.
“She fancies so,” replied Madame Desvarennes. “She has got it into her
head, but it will wear off. You thoroughly understand that I did not bid
you to come from Africa to be present at my daughter’s wedding. If you
are a man, we shall see some fun. Micheline is your betrothed. You have
our word, and the word of a Desvarennes is as good as the signature.--It
has never been dishonored. Well, refuse to give us back our promise.
Gain time, make love, and take my daughter away from that dandy.”
Pierre remained silent for a few minutes. In a moment he measured the
extent of the mischief done, by seeing Micheline before consulting
Madame Desvarennes. With the help of this energetic woman he might have
struggled, whereas left to his own strength, he had at the outset been
vanquished and forced to lay down his arms. Not only had he yielded, but
he had drawn his ally into his defeat.
“Your encouragements come too late,” said he. “Micheline asked me to
give her back her promise, and I gave it to her.”
“You were so weak as that!” cried Madame Desvarennes. “And she had so
much boldness? Does she dote on him so? I suspected her plans, and I
hastened to warn you. But all is not lost. You have given Micheline
back her promise. So be it. But I have not given you back yours. You are
pledged to me. I will not countenance the marriage which my daughter has
arranged without my consent! Help me to break it off. And, faith, you
could easily find another woman worth Micheline, but where shall I find
a son-in-law worth you? Come, the happiness of us all is in peril; save
it!”
“Why continue the struggle? I am beaten beforehand.”
“But if you forsake me, what can I do single-handed with Micheline?”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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