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“So much the better. She has evidently great
confidence in you, which is a strong point in your
favour.”
“It is everything.”
“As far as I am concerned, I frankly admit not
having taken to you very kindly at first, but now,
since we have met I am anxious to correct my
first impression and,” he added politely, “I
believe we are en bonne voie. A propos, what is
colitis?”
I got out of my difficulties by his adding
good-humouredly:
“Whatever it may be, it cannot be worse than
appendicitis, and, depend upon it, I shall soon
know as much about it as you do.”
He did not ask for much. I liked so much his
frank, polite manners that I ventured to put him
a question in return.
“No,” he answered with a slight
embarrassment in his voice, “I wish to God we had! We
have now been married for five years and so far
no sign of it. I wish to God we had! You know,
I was born in this old house and so was my father,
and my country-seat in Touraine has belonged to
us for three centuries, I am the last of my family,
and it is very hard, and . . . can nothing be
done for these confounded nerves? Have you
nothing to suggest?”
“I am sure this enervating air of Paris is not
good for the Countess, why don’t you go for a
change to your castle in Touraine?”
His whole face lit up:
“You are my man,” said the Count, stretching
his hands towards me, “I do not ask for better!
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