“And now,” he continued, “before you meet my daughter I desire to talk frankly with you for a moment. I have sometimes wondered if your father and I were wise to bind you when you were only a child. After all, a man should choose for himself, for marriage without love is not marriage, and good or bad, there is no escape once the vows are taken. I know the Paris fashion; I know that there are many fathers who do not believe as I do; they think me a fool--which is not so harsh a name as I sometimes apply to them. Your father was the dearest friend I ever had. I certainly do not intend to make his son unhappy.” “Monsieur,” I said, “I am already betrothed to your daughter. If she does not love another----” “No,” he said quickly, “I can answer for that.” “Then, monsieur, I am ready to espouse her, and I will do my best to make her happy.” He gripped my hand again, his eyes very bright. “I am sure of it,” he said; “but it is not a question of her happiness, but of yours. That she will find you a good and tender husband I do not doubt; but there are some things which you should know. She has had no mother for many years, and I have perhaps been too occupied in my own affairs to give her the attention she required. She has to a certain extent gone her own way, and such training as I have given her has, I fear, been a man’s training rather than a woman’s. So she grew up somewhat wild and headstrong, with strange ideas upon many subjects; though I did not suspect this until a month ago when I bade her prepare her trousseau. It was at that time she gave evidence of a disposition wholly new to me. In a word, she begged me that she might not be compelled to marry, and when I reminded her that my honor was engaged she retorted that her happiness weighed more heavily with her than my honor, and that at least she reserved the right to see you before consenting.” “Oh, monsieur,” I broke in, “say no more. I have no wish to force her to become my wife.” He held up his hand to stop me. “Understand,” he said, his eyes on mine, “that I did not agree with her. With women it is not the same as men. Any man who is affectionate and faithful can win a woman’s love, and keep it. She has not a man’s distractions, temptations, opportunities. I am very sure that you will make my daughter love you.” “God grant it,” I said, my lips quivering. “It is my wish to make her happy. But I am not a brilliant match--not so brilliant as she deserves. You are aware that this Revolution has ruined us.” Again he held up his hand. “No more of that, M. de Tavernay. By the way, you have not yet asked me what her dowry is to be.” “No,” I answered; “I had not thought of it.” He smiled queerly. “Well, we can settle all that to-morrow,” he said. “My chief concern is for your happiness. Tell me frankly, my friend, do you desire this marriage?”