’ She let out a peal of laughter. Your mother, for what it’s worth to you—for there’s nothing for you here, by God!—was the woman I chose for Nicholas. Were the parents agreeable? Were they of age? Had the license been procured? But here, in a far country, only the velvet manacles of wedlock were necessary. She sat drawn together in her chair in the corner of the box, at a loss what to say or do—afraid, curious, perplexed. Her husband had caught her leaning over a precipice into the ruins of the oubliette, and had punished her by flogging her back with a switch. I suppose if one were to love some one, one would feel doubtful.
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