“Well, let him pass, then—but tell me what you think of the Marquis de l’Estang, who came to see me the other day, and gazed spell-bound at my lovely sister all the time he was here. He was so overwhelmed by your surpassing grace, so dazzled by your exquisite beauty, that he was struck dumb, and when he tried to pay you pretty compliments, did nothing but stammer and blush. Aside from this timidity, which made him appear to great disadvantage, and which your ladyship should readily excuse, since you yourself were the cause of it, the marquis is an accomplished and estimable gentleman. He is handsome, young, of high birth and great wealth. He would do capitally for my fair sister, and is sure to address himself to the prince—if indeed he has not already done so—as an aspirant to the honour of an alliance with her.” “As I have the honour of belonging to this illustrious family,” said Isabelle a little impatiently, for she was exceedingly annoyed by this banter, “too much humility would not become me, therefore I will not say that I consider myself unworthy of such an alliance; but if the Marquis de l’Estang should ask my hand of my father, I would refuse him. I have told you, my dear brother, more than once, that I do not wish to marry—and you know it too—so pray don’t tease me any more about it.” “Oh! what a fierce, determined little woman is this fair sister of mine. Diana herself was not more inaccessible, in the forests and valleys of Haemus—yet, if the naughty mythological stories may be believed, she did at last smile upon a certain Endymion. You are vexed, because I casually propose some suitable candidates for the honour of your hand; but you need not be, for, if _they_ do not please you, we will hunt up one who will.” “I am not vexed, my dear brother, but you are certainly talking far too much for an invalid, and I shall tell Maître Laurent to reprimand you, or not permit you to have the promised bit of fowl for your supper.” “Oh! if that’s the case I will desist at once,” said Vallombreuse, with a droll air of submission, “for I’m as hungry as an ogre—but rest assured of one thing, my charming sister: No one shall select your husband but myself.” To put an end to this teasing, Isabelle began to read the corsair’s long story, without paying any attention to the indignant protests that were made, and Vallombreuse, to revenge himself, finally closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep; which feigned slumber soon became real, and Isabelle, perceiving that it was so, put aside her book and quietly stole away.