MME. BERNIN. If he had acted as you describe, I admit it would be monstrous. But he had no intention of engaging her affections. Annette was a friend of his sister’s. I am sure he had no idea in meeting her beyond that of simple good comradeship. Very likely he went on to pay her some attention; indeed he might well have been attracted by her. Your sweet little Annette, who is the most innocent of creatures, has fallen more easily and more deeply, perhaps, in love. Innocence like hers is closely akin to ignorance. But that my son has more to reproach himself with! You can easily see that he has not, because it was he who told me about it himself. LUCIE. How long ago? MME. BERNIN. Just now. He told me that he was in love with Annette, as she, no doubt, thinks herself with him; and, in fact, he begged me to come and ask for her hand. LUCIE. Only today? MME. BERNIN. A couple of hours since. LUCIE. Annette implored him to tell you. He said he had already done so and that you had given your consent. MME. BERNIN. Never. LUCIE. A month ago. MME. BERNIN. Until today he never said anything to me. LUCIE. Annette told me so herself! MME. BERNIN. He never said anything to me. LUCIE. Do you mean that she lied? MME. BERNIN. He never said anything to me. LUCIE. Do you think her truthful? MME. BERNIN. Yes. LUCIE. Candid, honest? MME. BERNIN. Yes. LUCIE. Well, then? MME. BERNIN. Well, it is possible that he did not tell her the truth. After all, he’s a man. LUCIE. And in love, men have the right to lie? MME. BERNIN. They think so. LUCIE. And when you told him to give up Annette, he agreed? MME. BERNIN. Yes, he did. He is a sensible, practical fellow, and he could not help seeing the force of what I said. He realizes that however hard it may be for him to break with Annette, it is necessary. I need hardly say he feels it keenly, but at these children’s age feelings change. LUCIE. I see. A week hence your son won’t think of her. But she? MME. BERNIN. She will forget him, too. LUCIE. I don’t know about that. Oh, my poor darling! If you could have seen her here just now when she came to tell us! She cried with joy! It’s not for joy that she’ll cry now. Oh, my God! [_She breaks into tears_]. MME. BERNIN [_moved_] Oh, don’t! Please, please! I understand your grief; indeed I do. Ah, if it were possible, how happy it would make me for Annette to marry my boy. I tell you I have had to stop myself from loving her. What a contrast to the girl he will have to marry—tiresome, affected creature. LUCIE. If what you say is true, aren’t you rich enough to let your son marry a poor girl? MME. BERNIN. No; we are not so well off as people suppose. And then we must give Gabrielle a dowry. LUCIE. You’ll find her a husband who will want her for herself.