Monsieur Gérondif was greatly surprised by this speech; he recovered himself, however, and replied:
“My sweet Louise, _varium et mutabile semper femina_; or, if you prefer: '_souvent femme varie, bien fol est qui s’y fie_.’--Woman changes ever; he is a great fool who trusts her.--The latter lines are by François I; I prefer Beranger’s.--Tiresias declares that men have only three ounces of love, while women have nine, which enables them to change oftener than we do; and yet, with only three ounces, we do pretty well.”
“It means, my dear love, that you will do like the others: you will change; your love will pass away.”
“Never is a word that means nothing at all in love. However, you will have plenty of time to think about it, as I give you two years for reflection. Until then, allow me to hope.”
“I beg pardon; by hoping one lives content, and I cling to my hope. Adieu, fair Louise; continue to behave becomingly; your remuneration will be increased doubtless, and I shall continue to put mine aside; and, as a very trivial but very shrewd popular proverb says: ‘Let’s let the mutton boil!’--I lay my homage at your feet.”
Monsieur Gérondif took his leave, and Louise was at liberty to weep without restraint. She did not bestow a thought on the tutor’s offers, she thought only of Chérubin, who no longer loved her, who had ceased to think of her, and who had mistresses. She had been afraid for a long time that he had forgotten her; but now she was certain of it, and it is a far cry from fear to certainty, in love.
The return of Madame de Noirmont and her daughter forced Louise to conceal her tears. She hastily wiped her eyes and tried to dissemble her depression, for she felt that she must not betray the secret of her heart.
On that day Monsieur de Noirmont went out after dinner. Ernestine remained with her mother, to whom, as they worked, she said whatever came into her head, especially as she saw that it was one of her moments of good humor. When Madame de Noirmont smiled at her daughter’s speeches, the latter was so delighted that she often laid her work aside to throw her arms about her mother’s neck, who sometimes held her lovingly to her heart for some moments.
Louise, for whom they rang to order tea, entered the salon at one of the times when Madame de Noirmont’s arms were about her daughter; and the sweet child, in her joy at being so fondled, cried out: