Bressant was lying comfortably upon his bed with his eyes closed; no one
would have imagined there had been any outburst or convulsion of passion
in his mental or emotional organism. He breathed easily; there was a
pale tint of red in his cheeks, above his close, brown beard; his
forehead was slightly moist, and his pulse, on which the surgeon laid
his finger with professional instinct, beat quietly and regularly. In
entering upon the world of love, all marks of wounds received upon the
journey seemed to have passed away.
He opened his eyes at the professor's touch, and fixed them upon the old
gentleman in such a serene stare of untroubled complacency as one
sometimes receives from a baby nine months old.
"Well, sir"--the professor, from some subtle delicacy of feeling
respecting the prospective change in their relationship, adopted this
form of address in preference to that more paternal one he had been in
the habit of using since Bressant's accident--"well, sir, how do you
find yourself now?"
"Much better; I shall soon be well now. I feel differently from ever
before--very light and full here," said the young man, indicating the
region of his heart.
"I've seen Sophie," observed Professor Valeyon, after a somewhat long
silence, which Bressant, who had calmly closed his eyes again, showed no
intention of breaking.
"Sophie and I love each other," responded he, meditatively, and rather
to himself than to the father. The latter could not but feel some
surprise at the untroubled confidence the young man's manner displayed.
Before he could put his thought into fitting words, the other spoke
again.
"I've been thinking, I should like to marry her."
"You'd like to marry her?" repeated the old gentleman, with a mixture of
sternness and astonishment, his forehead reddening. "What else do you
suppose I expected, sir?"
Bressant turned over on his side, and regarded him with some curiosity.
"Do all people who love each other, or because they love each other,
marry?" demanded he.
For a moment, the professor seemed to suspect some latent satire in this
question; but the young man's face convinced him to the contrary.
"In many marriages, there's little love--true love--on either side;
that's certain," said he, passing his hand down his face, and looking
grave. "But marriage was ordained for none but lovers."
"The reason I want to be married to Sophie is because I love her so much
I couldn't live without her," resumed Bressant, as if stating some
unusual circumstance.
"Humph!" ejaculated the professor, partly amused and partly puzzled.
Bressant rubbed his forehead, and fingered his beard awhile, and then
continued: "We've been reading poetry lately, and romances, and such things. I used
to think they were nonsense--good for nothing; because they came out so
beautifully, and represented love to be so great an element in the
world. But now I see they were not good enough; they are much below the
truth; I mean to write poetry and romances myself!"