A servant then announced “the Marquis d’Auray.” All present drew to one side, so as to leave free passage from the door, and all eyes were directed to the spot at which this new personage was to appear. It was not long before their curiosity was satisfied; the marquis came in almost immediately, supported by two servants. He was an old man, whose countenance, notwithstanding that the traces of suffering had deeply furrowed it, still retained that noble and dignified appearance which had rendered him one of the most distinguished men of the court of Louis XV. His large, hollow, and feverish eyes, glanced around the assembly with a strange expression of astonishment. He was dressed in his costume of Steward of the Household, wore the order of the Holy Ghost suspended from his neck, and that of St. Louis, at his button hole. He advanced slowly, and without uttering a word. The two servants led him forward amid the most profound silence, to an arm-chair, in which he seated himself, and the servants left the room. The marchioness then placed herself at his right hand. The notary opened the portfolio, drew from it the marriage contract and read it aloud. The marquis and the marchioness made over the sum of five hundred thousand francs to Lectoure, and gave a like sum to Marguerite, as her dowry. During the whole of the time occupied by the reading of the contract, the marchioness, notwithstanding her great self command, had betrayed some symptoms of uneasiness. But just at the moment when the notary had placed the contract open on the table, Emanuel returned and approached his mother. “And Marguerite?” said the marchioness. “She will be here instantly.” “Madam,” murmured Marguerite, half opening the door, and clasping her hands. The marchioness pretended not to hear her, and pointed with her finger at the pen. “Baron, it is you who are first to sign.” Lectoure immediately approached the table and signed the contract. “Madam!” cried Marguerite, in a tone of supplication, and advancing one step toward her mother. “Pass the pen to your betrothed, Baron,” said the marchioness. The Baron walked round the table, and drew near to Marguerite. “Madam!” again cried the latter, with an accent so melancholy, that it struck to the heart of every person present, and even the marquis himself raised his head. “Sign!” said the marchioness, pointing to the marriage contract. “Oh! my father! my father!” exclaimed Marguerite throwing herself at the feet of the marquis. “What does this mean?” said the marchioness, leaning upon the arm of the marquis’ chair, and bending over him, “are you mad, mademoiselle?” “My father! oh! my father!” again cried Marguerite, throwing her arms around him, “my father, have pity, save your daughter!” “Marguerite!” murmured the marchioness, in a threatening accent.