"Ay boy! ay!" cried the old commander, "so it would be, if she could get it. But the contract between the good Count de Marennes and your uncle is, that Rose is to marry his nephew, the subsisting heir of Liancourt. No name is mentioned, lest the heir should die in the meantime; but you were then, you are still, the subsisting heir of Liancourt, in virtue of your mother's rights as eldest daughter of my father, and my renunciation in her favour. If you put your hand to that paper you are worse than Esau, for you not only sell your birthright, but your bride, for a mess of pottage." De Montigni started up and paced the room for a moment with his hand clasped upon his forehead, and twice he muttered, "This is shameful!" He was tempted, strongly tempted, let what would be the result, to assert his rights at once; to claim his own without one consideration of the feelings of others; to exact the utmost sum of his inheritance, like a miser; to demand his bride willing or unwilling, under the engagement of her father. But better thoughts first came to withhold him, and, as he reflected, difficulties appeared to impede him in such a course. The contract, doubtless, was in the hands of Monsieur de Liancourt. How could he prove it?--how establish his claim? The estates, indeed, he might withhold; his opposition might delay the marriage. But then he asked himself could he inflict sorrow and disappointment on Rose d'Albret; could he dash from her lip the cup of hope and expectation? Most likely she looked forward to her approaching marriage as a thing decided beyond all chance of change. He had no substantial reason to suppose that she felt repugnance to it. Her mind was probably made up; her part taken; perhaps all the affections of her young heart engaged. Was he to be the person to blight all her prospects--to disappoint all her hopes? "No," he thought, "no!" and resuming his seat by his uncle, he said, "This deceit used towards me, my dear Sir, is very bad. It disgusts one with the world and human nature. Yet one consideration will probably make me yield to all their wishes, and forbear from exercising my rights, even now that I know them." "Phoo! Too!" cried the commander, interrupting him. "The boy is mad! Go, call our friend, Estoc. He must talk with him. There is a gentleman here, Louis--by the bye, he came with yourself--whom I met with once or twice in the old wars. He is as wise and good a man as ever lived--bating a bit of heresy in his notions, though scarce half a Huguenot either--a good soldier as any in France, and moreover a very prudent and clever person--a very wise good man. Indeed--none better. I have been talking with him a long time since supper all about this affair, and you must take his advice, or at least listen to it. Depend upon it, you will find it good."