She turned her head away, and in a voice that was scarcely perceptible, in a stifled sigh: 

“My brother—­”

“It is greatly on account of your brother that I wish this marriage.”

Then, suddenly:  “Do you think me the man to submit to prejudiced blockheads?”

CHAPTER XXXVIII

THE IMPORTANT QUESTION

Saniel had not waited until this day to acknowledge the salutary influence that Phillis’s presence exercised over him, yet the idea of making her his wife never occurred to him.  He thought himself ill-adapted to marriage, and but little desirous of being a husband.  Until lately he had had no desire for a home.

This idea came to him suddenly and took strong hold of him; at least as much on account of the calmness he felt in her presence, as by the charm of her manner, her health, happiness, and gayety.

It was not only physical calm that she gave him by a mysterious affinity concerning which his studies told him nothing, but of which he did not the less feel all the force; it was also a moral calm.

There were duties he owed her, and terribly heavy were those he owed her mother and Florentin.

He did all he could for Florentin, but this was not all that he owed them.  Florentin was in prison; Madame Cormier fell into a mournful despair, growing weaker each day; and Phillis, in spite of her elasticity and courage, bent beneath the weight of injustice.

How much the situation would be changed if he married her—­for them, and for him!

When Phillis was a little recovered from her great surprise, she asked him: 

“When did you decide on this marriage?”

He did not wish to prevaricate, and he answered that it was at that instant that the idea came to him, exact enough and strong enough to give form to the ideas that had been floating in his brain for several months.

“At least, have you considered it?  Have you not yielded to an impulse of love?”

“Would it be better to yield to a long, rational calculation?  I marry you because I love you, and also because I am certain that without you I cannot be happy.  Frankly, I acknowledge that I need you, your tenderness, your love, your strength of character, your equal temper, your invincible faith in hope, which, for me as I am organized, is worth the largest dot.”

“It is exactly because I have no dot to bring you.  When you were at the last extremity, desperate and crushed, I might ask to become the wife of the poor village doctor that you were going to be; but to-day, in your position, above all in the position that you will soon occupy, is poor little Phillis worthy of you?  You give me the greatest joy that I can ever know, of which I have only dreamed in telling myself that it would be folly to hope to have it realized.  But just that gives me the strength to beg you to reflect, and to consider whether you will ever regret this moment of rapture that makes me so happy.”