“I did not wish you to say anything else, Monsieur; that is enough for me. Flamaran asked my daughter’s hand for your friend only this morning. Flamaran loses no time when charged with a commission. He, too, told me much that was good of your friend. I also questioned Counsellor Boule. But however flattering characters they might give him, I still needed another, that of a man who had lived in complete intimacy with Monsieur Mouillard, and I could find no one but you.” Lampron stared astonished at this little thin-lipped man who had just changed his tone and manner so unexpectedly. “Well, Monsieur,” he answered, “you might have got his character from me with less trouble; there was no need to make a scene.” “Excuse me. You say I should have got his character; that is exactly what I did not want; characters are always good. What I wanted was a cry from the heart of a friend outraged and brought to bay. That is what I got, and it satisfies me. I am much obliged to you, Monsieur, and beg you will excuse my conduct.” “But, since we are talking sense at present, allow me to put you a question in my turn. I am not in the habit of going around the point. Is my friend’s proposal likely to be accepted or not?” “Monsieur Lampron, in these delicate matters I have decided for the future to leave my daughter entirely free. Although my happiness is at stake almost as entirely as hers, I shall not say a word save to advise. In accordance with this resolve I communicated Flamaran’s proposal to her.” “Well?” “I expected she would refuse it.” “But she said ‘Yes’?” “She did not say ‘No;’ if she had, you can guess that I should not be here.” At this reply I quite lost my head, and was very near tearing aside the curtain, and bursting forth into the studio with a shout of gratitude. But M. Charnot added: “Don’t be too sure, though. There are certain serious, and, perhaps, insurmountable obstacles. I must speak to my daughter again. I will let your friend know of our final decision as soon as I can. Good-by, Monsieur.” Lampron saw him to the street, and I heard their steps grow distant in the passage. A moment later Sylvestre returned and held out both hands to me, saying: “Well, are you happy now?” “Of course I am, to a certain extent.” “‘To a certain extent’! Why, she loves you.” “But the obstacles, Sylvestre!” “Nonsense!” “Perhaps insurmountable--those were his words.” “Why, obstacles are the salt of all our joys. What a deal you young men want before you can be called happy! You ask Life for certainties, as if she had any to give you!” And he began to discuss my fears, but could not quite disperse them, for neither of us could guess what the obstacles could be. August 2d.