“I implore you.” “But if I am mistaken; if I should say something nonsensical.” “My friend, my friend, go on.” “Well, as I was saying, my lord, can I be so fortunate as to find your lordship in love with my sister?” Sir John gave a cry of joy, and with a rapid movement, of which so phlegmatic a man might have been thought incapable, he threw himself in Roland’s arms. “Your sister is an angel, my dear Roland,” he exclaimed, “and I love her with all my heart.” “Are you entirely free to do so, my lord?” “Entirely. For the last twelve years, as I told you, I have had my fortune under my own control; it amounts to twenty-five thousand pounds sterling a year.” “Too much, my dear fellow, for a woman who can only bring you fifty thousand francs.” “Oh!” said the Englishman, with that national accent that returned to him occasionally in moments of strong excitement, “if I must get rid of a part of it, I can do so.” “No,” replied Roland, laughing, “that’s not necessary. You’re rich; it’s unfortunate, but what’s to be done?--No, that’s not the question. Do you love my sister?” “I adore her.” “And she,” resumed Roland, “does she love you?” “Of course you understand,” returned Sir John, “that I have not asked her. I was bound, my dear Roland, to speak to you first, and if the matter were agreeable, to beg you to plead my cause with your mother. After I have obtained the consent of both, I shall make my offer. Or rather, you will make it for me, for I should never dare.” “Then I am the first to receive your confidence?” “You are my best friend, and it ought to be so.” “Well, my dear friend, as far as I am concerned, your suit is won--naturally.” “Your mother and sister remain.” “They will be one. You understand that my mother will leave Amélie free to make her own choice; and I need not tell you that if it falls upon you she will be delighted. But there is a person whom you have forgotten.” “Who is that?” said Sir John, in the tone of a man who, having weighed all chances for and against, believes he knows them all, and is met by an obstacle he has never thought of. “The First Consul,” said Roland. “God--” ejaculated the Englishman, swallowing the last words of the national oath. “He spoke to me just before I left for the Vendée of my sister’s marriage,” continued Roland; “saying that it no longer concerned my mother and myself, for he would take charge of it.” “Then,” said Sir John, “I am lost.” “Why so?” “The First Consul does not like the English.” “Say rather that the English do not like the First Consul.” “But who will present my wishes to the First Consul?” “I will.” “And will you speak of them as agreeable to yourself?” “I’ll turn you into a dove of peace between the two nations,” said Roland, rising. “Oh! thank you,” cried Sir john, seizing the young man’s hand. Then he added, regretfully, “Must you leave me?”