“Madame!” said the Prince-Marshal, and then he stopped, for his voice sounded so strange he thought he had better begin again. “Madame, I have for a long period had the honour and advantage of your friendship. Nay, I hope that I have, in all that time, done nothing to forfeit your good opinion?” She laughed a little unmeaning laugh, and of course avoided a direct answer to the question. “I always stand up for my friends,” said he, “and yourself, monsieur, amongst the number. It is no light task, I can assure you!” The veteran had opened fire now, and gained confidence every moment. The first step, the first plunge, the first sentence. It is all the same. Fairly in deep water, a brave man finds his courage come back even faster than it failed him. “Madame,” he resumed, laying his hat on the floor again, and sitting bolt upright, while his voice, though hoarser than usual, grew very stern, “madame, I am in earnest. Seriously in earnest at present. Listen. I have something of importance to say to you!” In spite of herself she was a little cowed. “One moment, Prince!” she exclaimed, rising to shut the door and window of her boudoir, as if against listeners. It was a simple feminine manœuvre to gain time; but, looking into the garden, she spied a remnant of the Stephanotis left where George had trodden it, and when she sat down again she was as brave as a lioness once more. Her change of position rather disordered her suitor’s line of battle, and as she had skilfully increased the distance between them, his tactics were still further impeded. In his love affairs the Prince-Marshal’s system had always been to come as soon as possible to close quarters; but it was so long since he had made a regular formal proposal of marriage, that he could not for the life of him remember the precise attitude in which he had advanced. Some vague recollection he entertained, strengthened by what he had seen on the stage, of going down on his knees, but the floor was very slippery, and he was not quite confident about getting up again. It would be ridiculous, he felt, to urge his suit on all-fours, and he knew the Marquise well enough, besides, to be quite sure her paroxysms of laughter in such a difficulty would render her incapable of returning an intelligible answer. Altogether, he decided on sitting still, and though it was obviously a disadvantage, doing his love-making at arm’s length. “Madame!” he repeated for the fourth time, “I am a soldier; I am a man of few words; I am, I hope, a gentleman, but I am no longer young. I do not dissemble this; I am even past my prime. Frankly, madame, I am getting an old man.” It was incontestable. She smothered a smile as she mentally conceded the position, but in reply she had nothing to say, and she said it.