“Severity?” said the countess; “possibly. But you ought to think of the kindness too. Question yourself carefully. We foreign women do not understand the careless ease with which a Frenchwoman enters upon a solemn engagement. To us, our _yes_ is sacred; our word is a bond. We do and we will nothing by halves. The arms of my family bear a motto which seems significant under the present circumstances,--‘All or Nothing’; that is saying much, and yet, perhaps, not enough.” “That is how I understand my pledge,” replied la Peyrade; “and on leaving this room my first step will be to break with that ignoble past which for an instant I seemed to hold in the balance against the intoxicating future you do not forbid me to expect.” “No,” said the countess, “do it calmly and advisedly; I do not like rash conduct; you will not please me by taking open steps. These Thuilliers are not really bad at heart; they humiliated you without knowing that they did so; their world is not yours. Is that their fault? Loosen the tie between you, but do not violently break it. And, above all, reflect. Your conversion to my beliefs is of recent date. What man is certain of what his heart will say to him to-morrow?” “Madame,” said la Peyrade, “I am that man. We men of Southern blood do not love as you say a Frenchwoman loves.” “But,” said the countess, with a charming smile, “I thought it was hatred we were talking of.” “Ah, madame,” cried the barrister, “explained and understood as it has been, that word is still a thing that hurts me. Tell me rather, not that you love me, but that the words you deigned to say to me at our first interview were indeed the expression of your thoughts.” “My friend,” said the countess, dwelling on the word; “one of your moralists has said: ‘There are persons who say, _that is_ or _that is not_.’ Do me the favor to count me among such persons.” So saying, she held out her hand to her suitor with a charming gesture of modesty and grace. La Peyrade, quite beside himself, darted upon that beautiful hand and devoured it with kisses. “Enough, child!” said the countess, gently freeing her imprisoned fingers; “adieu now, soon to meet again! Adieu! My headache, I think, has disappeared.” La Peyrade picked up his hat, and seemed about to rush from the apartment; but at the door he turned and cast upon the handsome creature a look of tenderness. The countess made him, with her head, a graceful gesture of adieu; then, seeing that la Peyrade was inclined to return to her, she raised her forefinger as a warning to control himself and go. La Peyrade turned and left the apartment. CHAPTER VII. HOW TO SHUT THE DOOR IN PEOPLE’S FACES On the staircase la Peyrade stopped to exhale, if we may so express it, the happiness of which his heart was full. The words of the countess, the ingenious preparation she had made to put him on the track of her sentiments, seemed to him the guarantee of her sincerity, and he left her full of faith.