"Six months ago, Monsieur Desmarais, we pledged ourselves to each other." "After all, there is nothing in this love that should surprise me," continued Desmarais, as if talking to himself. "Charlotte has a hundred times heard me appreciate, as they deserve to be, the character, the intelligence, the excellent conduct of our dear John. She knows that I recognize no social distinction between man and man, except only that of worth. All are equal in my eyes, whatever the accidents of their birth or fortune. Nothing more natural--I should rather say, nothing more inevitable--than this love of my daughter for my young and worthy friend." "Ah, monsieur," cried the young mechanic, his eyes filling with tears and his voice shaken with inexpressible gratitude, "you consent, then, to our union?" "Well!" replied Monsieur Desmarais, continuing to affect imperturbable good-fellowship, "if the marriage pleases my daughter, it shall be according to her desire. I would not go against her wishes." "Oh, please, monsieur, ask mademoiselle at once!" "It is needless, my dear John, perfectly needless; for, between ourselves, a thousand circumstances until now insignificant now flock to my memory. There is no necessity for my questioning my daughter Charlotte to know that she loves you as much as you love her, my young friend. I am already convinced of it!" "Hold, monsieur--pardon me, I can hardly believe what I hear. Words fail me to express my joy, my gratitude, my surprise!" "And what, my dear John, have you to be surprised at?" "At seeing this marriage meet with not a single objection on your part, monsieur. I am astonished, in the midst of my joy. The language so touching, so flattering, in which you frame your consent, doubles its value to me." "Good heaven! And nothing is more simple than my conduct. Neither I nor my wife--I answer to you for her consent--can raise any objection to your marriage. Is it the question of fortune? I am rich, you are poor--what does that matter? Is the value of men measured by the franc mark? Is not, in short, your family as honorable, in other words, as virtuous as mine, my dear John? Are not both our families equally without reproach and without stain? Are not--" And Desmarais stopped as if smitten with a sudden and terrible recollection. His features darkened, and expressed a crushing sorrow. He hid his face in his hands and murmured: "Great God! What a frightful memory! Ah, unhappy young man! Unhappy father that I am!" Apparently overcome, Desmarais threw himself into an arm-chair, still holding his hands before his eyes as if to conceal his emotion. Stunned and alarmed, John Lebrenn gazed at the lawyer with inexpressible anguish. A secret presentiment flashed through his mind, and he said to Charlotte's father as he drew closer to him, "Monsieur, explain the cause of the sudden emotion under which I see you suffering." "Leave me, my poor friend, leave me! I am annihilated, crushed!"