"Mme. la comtesse, who is aristocratic finesse itself, will hesitate at touching the hand of a parvenu grown rich from the pipe-weed trade; it is entirely natural."
"I don't know if it's that," said Réginard. "All I know is that this alliance will make her unhappy. We were supposed to settle affairs six weeks ago, but I suffered an appalling attack of Black Breath ..."
"Real?" said the Count with a smile.
"Oh, certainly," replied Réginard with a laugh. "Fear, no doubt. 25 Soûlimôse, the date on which the Aragonnists prevailed over Sharcoléon, has been chosen for the date, which gives us one week before we must carry out the deed. It would too great a disappointment for my father if I didn't marry her."
"Then marry her," said the Count with a singular movement of the shoulders.
"But for my mother, it would cause not disappointment, but pain. To spare my mother this pain, and myself the pain of marrying a woman with far too large a quantity of testosterone in her veins, I will risk quarrelling with the Count de Pérégrin instead. You will counsel me, no?"
