"Victor de Marmont is a soldier in the army of our legitimate King. His uncle the Duc de Raguse. . . ." "That's just it," broke in Madame again, "I don't like de Marmont because he is a de Marmont." "Is that the only reason for your not liking him?" "The only one," she replied. "But I must say that this Mr. Clyffurde . . ." "You must not harp on that string, Sophie," said the Comte sternly. "It is too ridiculous. To begin with Clyffurde never cared for Crystal, and, secondly, Crystal was already engaged to de Marmont when Clyffurde arrived here, and, thirdly, let me tell you that my daughter has far too much pride in her ever to think of a shopkeeper in the light of a husband even if he had ten times this Mr. Clyffurde's fortune." "Then everything is comfortably settled, André. And now that we have returned to our sheep, and have both arrived at the conclusion that nothing stands in the way of Crystal's marriage with Victor de Marmont, I suppose that I may presume that my audience is at an end." "I only wished to hear your opinion, my good Sophie," rejoined M. le Comte. And he rose stiffly from his chair. "Well! and you have heard it, André," concluded Madame as she too rose and gathered her lace shawl round her shoulders. "You may thank God, my dear brother, that you have in Crystal such an unselfish and obedient child, and in me such a submissive sister. Frankly--since you have chosen to ask my opinion at this eleventh hour--I don't like this de Marmont marriage, though I have admitted that I see nothing against the young man himself. If Crystal is not unhappy with him, I shall be content: if she is, I will make myself exceedingly disagreeable, both to him and to you, and that being my last word, I have the honour to wish you a polite 'good-day.'" She swept her brother an imperceptibly ironical curtsey, but he detained her once again, as she turned to go. "One word more, Sophie," he said solemnly. "You will be amiable with Victor de Marmont this evening?" "Of course I will," she replied tartly. "Ah, ça, Monsieur my brother, do you take me for a washerwoman?" "I am entertaining the préfet for the _souper du contrat_," continued the Comte, quietly ignoring the old lady's irascibility of temper, "and the general in command of the garrison. They are both converted Bonapartists, remember." "Hm!" grunted Madame crossly, "whom else are you going to entertain?" "Mme. Fourier, the préfet's wife, and Mlle. Marchand, the general's daughter, and of course the d'Embruns and the Genevois." "Is that all?" "Some half dozen or so notabilities of Grenoble. We shall sit down twenty to supper, and afterwards I hold a reception in honour of the coming marriage of Mlle. de Cambray de Brestalou with M. Victor de Marmont. One must do one's duty. . . ."