“I think I understood,” he said, turning to Mme. de Marville, “that mademoiselle is your only daughter.” “Certainly,” the lady said proudly. “Nobody will make any difficulties,” Pons, good soul, put in by way of encouraging Brunner to bring out his proposal. But Brunner grew thoughtful, and an ominous silence brought on a coolness of the strangest kind. The Presidente might have admitted that her “little girl” was subject to epileptic fits. The President, thinking that Cecile ought not to be present, signed to her to go. She went. Still Brunner said nothing. They all began to look at one another. The situation was growing awkward. Camusot senior, a man of experience, took the German to Mme. de Marville’s room, ostensibly to show him Pons’ fan. He saw that some difficulty had arisen, and signed to the rest to leave him alone with Cecile’s suitor-designate. “Here is the masterpiece,” said Camusot, opening out the fan. Brunner took it in his hand and looked at it. “It is worth five thousand francs,” he said after a moment. “Did you not come here, sir, to ask for my granddaughter?” inquired the future peer of France. “Yes, sir,” said Brunner; “and I beg you to believe that no possible marriage could be more flattering to my vanity. I shall never find any one more charming nor more amiable, nor a young lady who answers to my ideas like Mlle. Cecile; but--” “Oh, no _buts_!” old Camusot broke in; “or let us have the translation of your ‘buts’ at once, my dear sir.” “I am very glad, sir, that the matter has gone no further on either side,” Brunner answered gravely. “I had no idea that Mlle. Cecile was an only daughter. Anybody else would consider this an advantage; but to me, believe me, it is an insurmountable obstacle to--” “What, sir!” cried Camusot, amazed beyond measure. “Do you find a positive drawback in an immense advantage? Your conduct is really extraordinary; I should very much like to hear the explanation of it.”