seated at table, his mother told him of the horrible letters, according to her, that the Kergarouëts and the Portenduères had written to her.
“There is no more family nowadays, mother,” answered Savinien, “there are only individuals! The nobles are no longer a solid party. To-day no one asks you if you are a Portenduère, if you are brave, if you are a statesman; everybody asks you, ‘What taxes do you pay?’”
“And the King?” asked the old lady.
“The King is caught between the two chambers like a man between his lawful wife and his mistress. And so I too must marry a rich girl, no matter what family she belongs to, a peasant’s daughter, if she has a dowry of a million and if she is sufficiently well educated, that is to say, if she comes from a school.’”
“That is another thing!” said the old lady.
Savinien frowned at hearing these words. He knew this granite will, called Breton obstinacy, for which his mother was well-known, and he wanted at once to know her opinion about this delicate matter.
“So then,” he said, “if I were to love a young girl, like our neighbor’s ward, for instance little Ursule, you would oppose my marriage?”
“As long as I live,” she said. “After my death, you alone will be responsible for the honor and blood of the Portenduères and the Kergarouëts.”
“Then you would let me die of hunger and despair for the sake of an idle fancy which nowadays only becomes a reality through the lustre of wealth?”
