“He is so affectionate, so superior, so good, and so great! He answered... But I could never, because I am only a humble woman--I could never repeat the words of a Member of the Institute. I can only utter the substance of them. He answered, ‘Yes, I understand you--yes.’” And with these words she reached out and seized one of my hands. Then Maitre Mouche, also overwhelmed with emotion, arose and seized my other hand. “Monsieur,” he said, “permit me to offer my congratulations.” Several times in my life I have known fear; but never before had I experienced any fright of so nauseating a character. A sickening terror came upon me. I disengaged by two hands, and, rising to my feet, so as to give all possible seriousness to my words, I said, “Madame, either I explained myself very badly when you were at my house, or I have totally misunderstood you here in your own. In either case, a positive declaration is absolutely necessary. Permit me, Madame, to make it now, very plainly. No--I never did understand you; I am totally ignorant of the nature of this marriage project that you have been planning for me--if you really have been planning one. In any event, I should not think of marrying. It would be unpardonable folly at my age, and even now, at this moment, I cannot conceive how a sensible person like you could ever have advised me to marry. Indeed, I am strongly inclined to believe that I must have been mistaken, and that you never said anything of the kind before. In the latter case, please excuse an old man totally unfamiliar with the usages of society, unaccustomed to the conversation of ladies, and very contrite for his mistake.” Maitre Mouche went back very softly to his place, where, not finding any more nuts to crack, he began to whittle a cork. Mademoiselle Prefere, after staring at me for a few moments with an expression in her little round dry eyes which I had never seen there before, suddenly resumed her customary sweetness and graciousness. Then she cried out in honeyed tones, “Oh! these learned men!--these studious men! They are like children. Yes, Monsieur Bonnard, you are a real child!” Then, turning to the notary, who still sat very quietly in his corner, with his nose over his cork, she exclaimed, in beseeching tones, “Oh, do not accuse him! Do not accuse him! Do not think any evil of him, I beg of you! Do not think it at all! Must I ask you upon my knees?” Maitre Mouche continued to examine all the various aspects and surfaces of his cork without making any further manifestation. I was very indignant; and I know that my cheeks must have been extremely red, if I could judge by the flush of heat which I felt rise to my face. This would enable me to explain the words I heard through all the buzzing in my ears: “I am frightened about him! our poor friend!... Monsieur Mouche, be kind enough to open a window! It seems to me that a compress of arnica would do him some good.”