Part 29 (1/2)
”But who told you that M. Spiegel is a Protestant?”
”No one. I discovered that all alone; it did not take me long either--”
”But how can you know--”
”I do not know anything, and yet you see I do know all the same; it's a very good thing to be able to marry a Protestant; they are less frivolous, more serious, and more constant.”
”Yes, perhaps so; but his mother, as I told you looks very severe, very; and she is going to live with us.”
”Oh, well, so much the better. It is a safe-guard, don't you know, to have a mother with you who is somewhat austere. In the first place, she will inspire everyone with respect for you.”
”I don't think I need anyone to inspire people with respect for me, and, anyhow, it seems to me that if I did, why, my husband would be--”
”Not at all! oh, no! parents are quite different, and I was brought up to wors.h.i.+p my parents, and to believe that their presence brings not only respect but happiness into the home.”
”Oh, yes, I think that, too, as regards papa; but Madame Spiegel is a stranger to me, as it were, and I do feel that I owe her a little grudge for coming to intrude on the privacy of our home-life, which would have seemed so much happier alone.”
”You must say to yourself that she is the mother of your husband, that he loves her, and that you ought to love her for his sake.”
”You are quite right. How I wish I were like you, Bijou dear! you are so much better than I am.”
”I am an angel, am I not? that's settled.”
”You are joking; but it is quite, quite true.”
”Tell me, won't it make you miserable to be away from your _fiance_ all this week, which you are going to spend with me?”
”No; besides he will come with papa to see me if your grandmamma will allow him to, and then he is going to Paris for a few days.”
”And here I am walking you about, like the thoughtless creature that I am, forgetting that the unhappy young man is sure to be wretched without you. Let us go in; shall we?”
”Yes, I am quite willing.”
A bright gleam suddenly came into Bijou's eyes, shaded as they were by their long lashes, and then, putting on an indifferent air, she said to her friend:
”Tell me what little incident could possibly have given you the extraordinary idea that Jean de Blaye cares for me?”
”The way he looked at you all through luncheon, and then, too, his annoyance when we were all out on the steps this morning watching for you, and he saw you coming with young Jonzac and his tutor.”
”You have too much imagination.”
”No; I am sure that he is in love with you--and very much so!--and what about you?”
”What about me?”
”You--you don't care for him?”
”No, not in the way you mean, at least. He is my cousin; I like him just as one does like a nice cousin, whom one knows too well to care for in any other way.”
”It's a pity.”