This was not the result of Marie's words--words in themselves are nothing; it is the personality of the speaker that makes them live or die, and personality is strongest when nourished long in virtue and silence and prayer.

When it came to pass that the notary actually did the thing Marie told him to do, he began to think of her even with tenderness in his heart.
Now a very strange thing happened.

In about a week the notary called on Madame Verine a second time; he greeted her with all ceremony, and then he sat down on a little stiff chair and explained his business in his own brief, dry way.
Marie was not there.

The little _salon_, all polished and shining, gave faint lights and shadows in answer to every movement of its inmates.
Madame Verine, in a voluminous silk gown, sat all attention, looking at the notary; she thought he was a very fine man, quite a great personage, and undoubtedly handsome.
'Madam,' began he, 'I am, as you know, at middle age, yet a bachelor, and the reason, to be plain with you, is that I have not believed in women.

Pardon me, I would not be rude, but I am a business man.