"I am a poor girl," she said, "you are rich and your father, they say, thinks of nothing but increasing his fortune. You cannot marry me, and I ought not to think of marrying in my position. It would be by mere chance if I should fall in with a man as poor as myself, who had received a little education; and I have never counted on that chance. I said to myself long ago that I must make the best of my lot, in order to accustom myself to a sense of true dignity, which consists in not envying others and in forming oneself to simple tastes and honorable employment. So I do not think of marriage at all, since it would probably be necessary to change my way of thinking in order to find a husband. I must tell you that Janille got an idea into her head several days ago that troubles me a great deal. She wants my father to seek a husband for me. Seek a husband! Isn't that shameful and humiliating? Can you imagine anything more repulsive? And yet the dear old soul cannot understand my objection, and as my father was going to Argenton to receive the quarterly payment of his small pension, she suddenly decided this morning that he must take me and introduce me to some of his acquaintances. We can't resist Janille, so we started; but my father, thank heaven! doesn't know how to find husbands, and I shall be so cunning about helping him not to think of it, that this little excursion will result in nothing. You see, Monsieur Emile, that you mustn't pay your court to a girl who has no illusions and who has made up her mind, without regret or shame, to remain unmarried. I supposed that you would understand this, and that your friendly sentiments would prevent you from seeking to ruffle my quiet life. So forget this folly which has passed through your mind, and look upon me simply as a sister, who will forget what you have said, if you promise to love her with a calm and brotherly love. Why should we part? it would be a great sorrow to my father and me!" "It would be a great sorrow to you, Gilberte?" said Emile; "why is it that you weep when you say such cold words to me? Either I do not understand you, or you are concealing something from me. And do you want me to tell you what I think that I divine? that you have not enough esteem for me to listen to me with confidence. You take me for a young madman, who prates of love without religion or conscience, and you think that you can treat me like a child to whom you would say: 'I forgive you, don't do it again.' But, if you believe that a genuine, serious passion can be allayed by a few cold words, you are a child yourself, Gilberte, and you have no feeling at all for me in the depths of your heart. O my God, can it be possible? and do those eyes that avoid mine, that hand that spurns me, mean contempt or incredulity?"