“You don’t know what happened, Mother. I do not love him. Only ... his offer was so unexpected, so strange, that I was a little startled. It is the first time, Mother, you know.... But I don’t love him, I assure you.... I cannot do more than I have done.” Her mother was looking at her with infinite love, as if she were measuring the extent of this devotion which would not confess itself and persisted in denial, even to despair. “Come with me, Paule,” she said at last. “Jean has not told you everything--Or you left too soon. He did not have time to tell you, dear, that when you go I am going with you.” As flowers after a heavy shower sparkle in the sunlight which changes their rain-drops to precious stones, so now this tearful face lighted up. Paule threw her arms round her mother’s neck. If Madame Guibert had any doubts about Paule’s secret, this quick change would have enlightened her. “Mother, is that true? How happy we shall be out there! ... I love you.” Madame Guibert smiled, fully aware that these three immortal words were not meant for her. “I knew it well,” she murmured softly, fondling her daughter’s cheek as she used to do when she was but a tiny child. Moved to tears she was thinking of the blossoming of this happiness to which, by a providential chance, she had been allowed to contribute, and under her breath she thanked God, who had answered her prayer. Shyly and without looking at her mother, Paule asked: “Has he gone?” “He is here.” The girl blushed, but the darkness hid her. The golden lights were already fading from the mirror. “Let us go and find him,” said Madame Guibert. She lead Paule by the hand into the drawing-room. “Jean,” she said, “here is your wife!” She joined their hands. But they did not look at each other yet. A similar emotion filled their hearts. Jean was the first to raise his eyes. The tears Paule had shed, if they lessened the beauty of her features, took away the pride of her expression and in its place brought a humbler, more touching look. He loved her all the more for her womanly weakness. “I may be certain of my happiness?” were his first words. With a sigh she answered, “Oh, yes....” “Paule, I love you,” he said. She repeated after him in a voice that was scarcely audible: “I love you, Jean.” She looked at him in her turn and they smiled at each other. But immediately her eyes went to her mother, and, the joy of her heart confirmed, she said: “Mother is going to Tonkin with us. We will all be together out there except my sister Marguerite, the nun.” Now Jean understood the last argument Madame Guibert had used to test her daughter’s heart. And although he had doubts about this journey and instinctively suspected the generous falsehood, he pretended to rejoice with the two women. “My children, my dear children,” Madame Guibert cried. “God has given us great happiness. May His blessing be upon you, upon your new home, upon your family! Jean, kiss your bride.”