She let people gossip,
however, receiving the stiff congratulations of her friends with strange
smiles. Her calculations had been made; she had chosen Rougon for a
husband as one would choose an accomplice. Her father, in accepting the
young man, had merely had eyes for the fifty thousand francs which were
to save him from bankruptcy. Felicite, however, was more keen-sighted.
She looked into the future, and felt that she would be in want of a
robust man, even if he were somewhat rustic, behind whom she might
conceal herself, and whose limbs she would move at will. She entertained
a deliberate hatred for the insignificant little exquisites of
provincial towns, the lean herd of notaries' clerks and prospective
barristers, who stand shivering with cold while waiting for clients.
Having no dowry, and despairing of ever marrying a rich merchant's son,
she by far preferred a peasant whom she could use as a passive tool,
to some lank graduate who would overwhelm her with his academical
superiority, and drag her about all her life in search of hollow
vanities. She was of opinion that the woman ought to make the man. She
believed herself capable of carving a minister out of a cow-herd. That
which had attracted her in Rougon was his broad chest, his heavy frame,
which was not altogether wanting in elegance. A man thus built would
bear with ease and sprightliness the mass of intrigues which she
dreamt of placing on his shoulders. However, while she appreciated her
husband's strength and vigour, she also perceived that he was far
from being a fool; under his coarse flesh she had divined the cunning
suppleness of his mind.
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