an Englishman to marry me. You know what our feelings are," his companion pursued; "our convictions, our susceptibilities. We may be wrong—we may be hollow—we may be pretentious; we may not be able to say on what it all rests; but there we are, and the fact is insurmountable. It is simply impossible for us to live with vulgar people. It's a defect, no doubt; it's an immense inconvenience, and in the days we live in it's sadly against one's interest. But we are made like that and we must understand ourselves. It's of the very essence of our nature, and of yours exactly as much as of mine or of that of the others. Don't make a mistake about it—you'll prepare for yourself a bitter future. I know what becomes of us. We suffer, we go through tortures, we die!"
The accent of passionate prophecy was in Mme. de Brécourt's voice, but her brother made her no immediate answer, only indulging restlessly in several turns about the room. At last he observed, taking up his hat: "I shall come to an understanding with her to-morrow, and the next day, about this hour, I shall bring her to see you. Meanwhile please say nothing to any one."
Mme. de Brécourt looked at him a moment; he had his hand on the knob of the door. "What do you mean by her father's appearing rich? That's such a vague term. What do you suppose his means to be?"
"Ah, that's a question she would never ask!" cried the young man, passing out.
