"_À propos_ of presents," Thérèse observes, reflectively, "do you not think, Zino, that the chandelier of Venetian glass I bought last year would be a good wedding-present for Stella Meineck?"
"Is she betrothed, then?" Zino inquires, naturally.
"To whom?" Capito asks, sitting down, both hands in his trousers-pockets, and crossing his legs.
"To Arthur de Hauterive,--a brilliant match," says Thérèse.
"Cabouat de Hauterive," murmurs Zino, ironically stroking his moustache, and stretching his legs out a little farther. "A brilliant match if you choose, but rather a scaly fellow,--eh?"
"I should like to know what objection you can make to him," Thérèse asks, crossly.
Zino shrugs his shoulders up to his ears, and then straightens them again, without taking any further pains to clothe in words his opinion of Monsieur Cabouat.
"He is not a thorough gentleman," says the elder Rohritz.
"One question, if you please." Edgar suddenly and unexpectedly takes part in the conversation: he has hitherto seemed quite absorbed in contemplation of a photograph on the mantel-piece of his little niece. "Has Fräulein Meineck agreed to the match?"
"Yes, to my great surprise," his brother replies. "I did not expect it of her."
"It was no easy task to bring her round," Thérèse declares; "but I went to work in the most sensible manner. 'Have you any other preference?' I asked Stella yesterday, after telling her that Monsieur de Hauterive was ready to lay his person and his millions at her feet and had begged me to ascertain for him beforehand that his suit would not be rejected."
"And what was Stella's reply?" Edmund asks.
"She started and changed colour. 'Dear child,' I said, 'it is perfectly natural that you should have some little fancy: we have all had our enthusiasms for the man in the moon; _cela va sans dire_; such trifles never count. The question is, Have you a passion for some one who returns it and who you have reason to hope will marry you?'
"'Then do not hesitate an instant, dear child,' I exclaimed; and when she did not reply I laid the case before her, making clear to her how unjustifiable her refusal of this offer would be. 'You have no money!' I exclaimed. 'You propose to go upon the stage. That is simply nonsense; for, setting aside the fact that you have scarcely voice enough to succeed, a theatrical career for a girl with your principles and prejudices is impossible. Look your future in the face, dear heart. Your little property must soon, as you cannot but admit, be consumed; that meanwhile the fairy prince of your girlish dreams should appear as your suitor is not within the bounds of probability. You must choose between two courses, either to earn your living as a governess or to give lessons; since you do not wish to leave your mother, you must adopt the latter. Fancy it!--running about in galoshes and a water-proof in all kinds of weathers, looked at askance by servants in the halls, tormented by your clients and pupils, no gleam of light anywhere, except in an occasional ticket for the theatre, either given to you or purchased out of your small savings, and finally in your old age a miserable invalid existence supported chiefly by the alms of a few charitable pupils. This is the future that awaits you if you refuse Monsieur de Hauterive. On the other hand, if you accept him, how delightful a life you will lead! You can assist your mother and sister largely, and will have nothing to do except to treat with a reasonable degree of consideration a good husband who exacts no passionate devotion from you, and to be the mistress, with all the grace and charm natural to you, of one of the finest houses in Paris. Why, you cannot possibly hesitate, my darling.'"