There was a visible excitement in the house; even Mr. Godfrey, ever so solemn, and latterly so inclined to severity, put on a cheerful appearance; people outside the family were _guessing_ at the cause. For a long time, guessing was the only thing they could do; even Madame de Meglior was not in the secret until one morning she received a letter from M. de Villeneuve, which appeared to contain some news, for she said to Mr. Godfrey, who happened to be the only one present: "Brother, can this be true?" "Can what be true, my good sister?" was the question returned. "That the Duke of Durimond is coming here to marry Adelaide?" "Why should it not be true?" "Why, the duke is an old man!" "Not at all; he was quite young when he made proposals for Adelaide; surely you remember them." "Remember them! Do you mean the agreement you made at the dinner-table, when Adelaide was two years old." "The agreement was made before, between his father and me; it was ratified, then, by himself; he had just come of age." "And that is sixteen years ago. Will you give Adelaide to a man of seven-and-thirty?' "Why not, if she makes no objection?" "Has she ever seen him?" {43} "Yes, she saw him in town last winter; 'twas there he renewed his offer; but, in fact, we have always corresponded. The duke is fond of the arts; 'twas he sent those fine pictures you admire so much." "He can't know whether he likes Adelaide or not, and she never struck me as being in love all this time." "Pshaw! The duke has proposed; Adelaide is satisfied. The marriage was agreed upon years ago; what would you have? I thought you' knew the world by this time."