The Prince-Marshal, expecting the disclaimer that perhaps politeness demanded, seemed here a little bothered. He had no doubt gone through many rehearsals of the imaginary scene, and it confused him to lose his anticipated cue. Seeking inspiration once more, then, from his hat, he proceeded rather inconsequently. “Therefore it is that I feel emboldened in the present instance to lay before you, madame, the thoughts, the intentions, the wishes, in brief—the anticipations that I had formed of my own future, and to ask your opinion, and, indeed, your advice, or perhaps, I should say, your approval of my plans.” What a quick ear she had! Far off, upstairs, she heard the door of her daughter’s bedroom shut, and she knew that Cerise, after stopping at every flower-stand in the gallery, would as usual come straight to her mamma’s boudoir. Such a diversion would be invaluable, as it must for the present prevent any decided result from her interview with the Prince-Marshal. She had resolved not to accept him for a husband, we know, and sooner or later, she must come to a definite understanding with her faithful old suitor; but she seemed in this instance strangely given to procrastination, and inclined from time to time to put off the evil day. Why she did not prefer to have done with it once for all, why she could not wait calmly for his proposal and refuse him with a polite reverence, as she had refused a score of others, it is not for me to explain. Perhaps she would not willingly abdicate a sovereignty that became year by year more precious and more precarious. Perhaps she loved a captive, as a cat loves a mouse, allowing it so much liberty as shall keep it just within reach of the cruel velvet paw. Perhaps she shrunk from any decided step that would force her own heart to confess it was interested elsewhere. A woman’s motives may be countless as the waves on the shore, her intention fathomless as mid-ocean by the deep-sea lead. Hearing the march of her auxiliaries, she made light of an engagement at closer quarters now. Looking affectionately in the Prince-Marshal’s face, she drew her chair a little nearer, and observed in a low voice— “I am pretty sure to approve of any plan, my Prince, that conduces to your comfort—to your welfare, nay”—for she heard the rustle of her daughter’s dress, and the lock of the door move—“to your happiness!”