but when she came back—can you understand it?—I proposed to her. I had not thought of it a second beforehand! Now yesterday I put myself to the test; I tried how it would be to keep away from her, but on my soul and honor, I am mad, indeed, I am—I cannot, I must be with her. If she does not marry me I will simply shoot myself. See—now you have the whole story. The deuce a bit do I care for my mother, or for the town—it is a miserable town, a mere hole of a place, a hole of a place. She must go away, you see; she must be far beyond and above this town; she must become comme il faut;[1] she must go abroad, to France, to Paris. I will pay the expenses and you must make the arrangements. I might leave here myself, settle abroad, no longer stay in this hole; but, you see, there is the fish! I should like to make something of the town; it is asleep; no one thinks, no one speculates; yet there are the fish! There is no management of the fisheries, though; the Spaniards, everybody abroad, complain; new methods must be found, another way of curing introduced; there must be different management—an entire change. The town must have a start, trade flourish; the fisheries ought to be worth millions!—Where
- ↑ Meaning in thoroughly good style.
