"Yes," admitted the Marquis. "He was what you may describe as brusque. It is the English way, perhaps, of treating such matters. Now, for myself I should have been warmer, I think. I should have allowed myself a little play, as it were. One says a few pretty things--is it not so? One suggests that the lady is an angel and oneself entirely unworthy of a happiness which is only to be compared with the happiness that is promised to us in the hereafter. It is an occasion upon which to be eloquent." "Not for the English," corrected Madame de Chantonnay, holding up a hand to emphasise her opinion. "And you must remember, that although our friend is French, he has been brought up in that cold country--by a minister of their frozen religion, I understand. I, who speak to you, know what they are, for once I had an Englishman in love with me. It was in Paris, when Louis XVIII was King. And did this Englishman tell me that he was heart-broken, I ask you? Never! On the contrary, he appeared to be of an indifference only to be compared with the indifference of a tree. He seemed to avoid me rather than seek my society. Once, he made believe to forget that he had been presented to me. A ruse--a mere ruse to conceal his passion. But I knew, I knew always." "And what was the poor man's fate? What was his name, Comtesse?" "I forget, my friend. For the moment I have forgotten it. But tell me more about Monsieur de Bourbon and Juliette. He is passionately in love with her, of course; he is so miserable." The Marquis reflected for a few moments. "Well," he said, at last, "he may be so; he may be so, Comtesse." "And you--what did you say?" The Marquis looked carefully round before replying. Then he leant forward with his forefinger raised delicately to the tip of his nose. "I temporised, Comtesse," he said, in a low voice. "I explained as gracefully as one could that it was too early to think of such a development--that I was taken by surprise." "Which could hardly have been true," put in Madame de Chantonnay in an audible aside to the mulberry-tree, "for neither Guienne nor la Vendée will be taken by surprise." "I said, in other words--a good many words, the more the better, for one must be polite--'Secure your throne, Monsieur, and you shall marry Juliette.' But it is not a position into which one hurries the last of the house of Gemosac--to be the wife of an unsuccessful claimant, eh?" Madame de Chantonnay approved in one gesture of her stout hand of these principles and of the Marquis de Gemosac's masterly demonstration of them. "And Monsieur de Bourbon--did he accept these conditions?" "He seemed to, Madame. He seemed content to do so," replied the Marquis, tapping his snuff-box and avoiding the lady's eye. "And Juliette?" inquired Madame, with a sidelong glance. "Oh, Juliette is sensible," replied the fond father. "My daughter is, I hope, sensible, Comtesse."