He listened to her
indignant recital, for she could not bear that her daughter should
have anything to do with a man whose family had affronted them; and
when she had finished he said nothing at first, according to his
present habit, until at last he shook his head smiling, and said:
"Good enough."
Madame Clerambault stopped short, shrugged her shoulders, turned to
go, but with her hand on the door of her room she looked back and
said:
"These people insulted you; Rosine and you agreed to have nothing more
to do with them, and now, _your daughter_ is making advances to this
man who has refused her, and you say it is 'good enough.' I can't
understand you any longer, you must be out of your mind."
Clerambault tried to show her that his daughter's happiness did not
consist in agreement with his ideas, and that Rosine was quite right
to get rid of the consequences of his foolishness where they affected
herself.
"Your foolishness ... that is the first word of sense that you have
said in years."
"You see yourself that I am right," said he, and made her promise to
let Rosine arrange her romance as she pleased.
The girl was radiant when she came in, but she said nothing of what
had passed. Madame Clerambault held her tongue with great difficulty,
and the father saw with tender amusement the happiness that shone
once more on the face of his child.
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