“Ah, he is like you, all energy, at all hours; but I have so little where my heart is unconcerned: he seems, too, to have a wish! I have none either way, and my conscience says ‘marry him!’” “Your conscience say marry one man when you love another?” “Heaven forbid! Rose, I love no one: I HAVE loved; but now my heart is dead and silent; only my conscience says, ‘You are the cause of all your mother’s trouble; you are the cause that Beaurepaire was sold. Now you can repair that mischief, and at the same time make a brave man happy, our benefactor happy.’ It is a great temptation: I hardly know why I said ‘no’ at all; surprise, perhaps--or to please you, pretty one.” Rose groaned: “Are you then worth so little that you would throw yourself away on a man who does not love you, nor want you, and is quite as happy single?” “No; not happy; he is only stout-hearted and good, and therefore content; and he is a character that it would be easy--in short, I feel my power here: I could make that man happy; he has nobody to write to even, when he is away--poor fellow!” “I shall lose all patience,” cried Rose; “you are at your old trick, thinking of everybody but yourself: I let you do it in trifles, but I love you too well to permit it when the happiness of your whole life is at stake. I must be satisfied on one point, or else this marriage shall never take place: just answer me this; if Camille Dujardin stood on one side, and Monsieur Raynal on the other, and both asked your hand, which would you take?” “That will never be. Whose? Not his whom I despise. Esteem might ripen into love, but what must contempt end in?” This reply gave Rose great satisfaction. To exhaust all awkward contingencies, she said, “One question more, and I have done. Suppose Camille should turn out--be not quite--what shall I say--inexcusable?”