"Don't hurry. You will see; one is my daughter's, the other comes from both of us." "You wish me to have some profession, perhaps?" "No, that's not it. Clearly my son-in-law will never sit idle. Besides, I have some views on that subject, which I will tell you later if I have the chance. No, the first condition exacted by my daughter, and dictated by a feeling which is very pleasant to me, is that you promise never to leave Paris." "That I swear to, with all the pleasure in life!" "Really? I feared you had some ties." "Not one." "Or dislike for Paris." "No, Monsieur; only a preference for Paris, with freedom to indulge it. Your second condition?" "The second, to which my daughter and I both attach importance, is that you should make your peace with your uncle. Flamaran tells me you have quarrelled." "That is true." "I hope it is not a serious difference. A mere cloud, isn't it?" "Unfortunately not. My uncle is very positive--" "But at the same time his heart is in the right place, so far as I could judge from what I saw of him--in June, I think it was." "Yes." "You don't mind taking the first step?" "I will take as many as may be needed." "I was sure you would. You can not remain on bad terms with your father's brother, the only relative you have left. In our eyes this reconciliation is a duty, a necessity. You should desire it as much as, and even more than, we." "I shall use every effort, Monsieur, I promise you." "And in that case you will succeed, I feel sure." M. Charnot, who had grown very pale, held out his hand to me, and tried hard to smile. "I think, Monsieur Fabien, that we are quite at one, and that the hour has come--" He did not finish the sentence, but rose and went to open a door between two bookcases at the end of the room. " Jeanne," he said, "Monsieur Fabien accepts the two conditions, my dear." And I saw Jeanne come smiling toward me. And I, who had risen trembling, I, who until then had lost my head at the mere thought of seeing her, I, who had many a time asked myself in terror what I should say on meeting her, if ever she were mine, I felt myself suddenly bold, and the words rushed to my lips to thank her, to express my joy. My happiness, however, was evident, and I might have spared my words. For the first half-hour all three of us talked together. Then M. Charnot pushed back his armchair, and we two were left to ourselves. He had taken up a newspaper, but I am pretty sure he held it upside down. In any case he must have been reading between the lines, for he did not turn the page the whole evening. He often cast a glance over the top of the paper, folded in four, to the corner where we were sitting, and from us his eyes travelled to a pretty miniature of Jeanne as a child, which hung over the mantelpiece.