Arabella was silenced because it was folly to contend in this matter with her father, who was a blunt, common-sense, clear-seeing man; but she was not in the least convinced Mr. De Courci was not a French count for all he might say, and, what was better, evidently saw attractions in her superior to those of which any of her fair compeers could boast. "My dear Miss Jones," said the count, when they next met, speaking in that delightful foreign accent, so pleasant to the ear of the young lady, and with the frankness peculiar to his nature, "I cannot withhold from you the honest expression of my sentiments. It would be unjust to myself, and unjust to you; for those sentiments too nearly involve my own peace, and, it may be, yours." The count hesitated, and looked interesting. Arabella blushed and trembled. The words, "You will speak to my father," were on the young lady's tongue. But she checked herself, and remained silent. It would not do to make that reference of the subject. Then came a gentle pressure of hair upon her cheek, and a gentle pressure from the gloved hand in which her own was resting. "My dear young lady, am I understood?" Arabella answered, delicately, by returning the gentle pressure of her hand, and leaning perceptibly nearer the Count De Courci. "I am the happiest of men!" said the count, enthusiastically. "And I the happiest of women," responded Arabella, not audibly, but in spirit. "Your father?" said De Courci. "Shall I see him?" "It will not be well yet," replied the maiden, evincing a good deal of confusion. "My father is"-- "Is what?" asked the nobleman, slightly elevating his person. "Is a man of some peculiar notions. Is, in fact, too rigidly American. He does not like"-- Arabella hesitated. "Doesn't like foreigners. Ah! I comprehend," and the count shrugged his shoulders and looked dignified; that is, as dignified as a man whose face is covered with hair can look. "I am sorry to say that he has unfounded prejudices against every thing not vulgarly American." "He will not consent, then?" "I fear not, Mr. De Courci." "Hum-m. Ah!" and the count thought for some moments. "Will not consent. What then? Arabella!" and he warmed in his manner--"Arabella, shall an unfounded prejudice interpose with its icy barriers? Shall hearts that are ready to melt into one, be kept apart by the mere word of a man? Forbid it, love! But suppose I go to him?" "It will be useless! He is as unbending as iron."