"No, gentlemen, they're not. But we may manage to buy some of them back again. How's land here?" "Land?" inquired the duke, rather bewildered with the question. "Yes--how is it, as to rent? How much an acre?" "'Pon my word, I don't know. When I want money I tell the steward, and the people--the--serfs, I suppose, they are--who hold the plough and manage the land--give him some, and he brings it to me." "Oh! but you don't know how many years' purchase it's worth?" To this there was no answer--statistics, at that time, not being a favourite study in France. "But, marquis," inquired another, "hasn't the King restored you your manorial rights--your _droits de seigneur_?" "No, sir." "Then what's the use of land without them?" was the very pertinent rejoinder. "What are they, sir?" inquired the marquis. "Why, if a tenant of yours has a pretty daughter," said one. "Or a wife," said another. "Or even a niece," said a third. "Well, sir, what then? I don't take." "Oh, you're a wag, marquis!" replied the duke. "Didn't I see, as we stopt before your window, a countenance radiant with beauty?" "Eyes like stars," chimed in another. "Cheeks like roses. Aha! Monsieur le Marquis--who was it?--come!" "Why, that,--oh, that,--that's a young lady under my protection, gentlemen; and I must beg you to change the conversation." "Indeed! you're a lucky fellow! The old fool mustn't be allowed to keep such beauty to himself." "Certainly not," returned the vicomte, also in a whisper. "Lucky!" said De Bouillon--"yes, gentlemen, I am lucky. If you knew all, you would think so, I'm sure." "She loves you, then, old simpleton?" "I think she does--I know she does--" "May we not ask the honour of being presented?" "Some other time, gentlemen--not now--she's not here--she's gone out for a walk." "Impossible, my dear lord; we must have met her as we came up stairs." "She has a headache--she's gone to lie down for a few minutes," said the marquis, getting more and more anxious to keep Louise from the intrusion of his visitors. "I have an excellent cure for headaches of all kinds," exclaimed the baron, and proceeded towards the bed-room door. The Marquis de Bouillon, however, put himself between; but the duke and vicomte pulled him aside, and the baron began to rat-tat on the door. "Come forth, madam!" he began, "we are dying for a sight of your angelic charms. De Bouillon begs you to honour us with your presence. Hark, she's coming!" he added, and drew back as he heard the bolt withdrawn on the other side. "Stay where you are! don't come out!" shouted De Bouillon, still in the hands of his friends. "I charge you, don't move a step!" But his injunctions were vain; the door opened, and, sailing majestically into the room, drest out in hoop and furbelow, and waving her fan affectedly before her face, appeared Miss Lucretia Smith-- "Did you visit to see me, gentlemen? I'm always delighted to see any one as is civil enough to give us a forenoon call."