The bailiff met them at the head of the avenue, and led them to the morning apartment of the Count, which he entered first, after being announced, leaving his companions in the hall. The door was presently opened, and he beckoned them in. The Count was sitting in his morning gown beside a table, on which stood a small silver tray, with his coffee-cup upon it. His valet was dressing his hair. Two of his sons were in the room; one playing with his dogs in a recess of the window, and the other reading the newspaper. "Come closer," said the Count, in answer to Randolphe's bow. "Nearer-- come close up to the table." The truth was, he could not otherwise see them well while his hair was in the hands of his valet. "Is it possible?" he said, as if to himself, while he looked at the peasant and his daughter. "Are you Randolphe? I had heard your name for so long and so often, among my people, that I had imagined you one of the principal of them. But you appear wretchedly poor, eh?" he continued, looking into the sallow, unshaven face before him. "I am afraid you are very poor, eh?" "Well-nigh heart-broken with poverty, my lord." "There is some mistake," resumed the Count. "How is this?" said he, looking towards the bailiff; and then, calling to his son in the window, "Casimir, how is this?" The bailiff answered first:-- "Randolphe is wretchedly poor, my lord, as you say; but there is no one of your people hereabouts who is less so." The youth's reply was, that in the question of arrangements for receiving the Dauphiness, he supposed the principal peasants belonging to the chateau would be spoken to; and he had mentioned Randolphe, understanding him to be one of them. Marie saw that this youth was the one who had stared her out of countenance at the stile, the afternoon before: the same who had talked with her brothers on the verge of the wood. The Count was for dismissing his visitors at once, saying that they would not answer his purpose for the arrangements of which he had meant to speak with them. They were not, however, let off so easily as they had now begun to hope. The young man asked some questions from the window, which put it into the Count's head to ask more, till Randolphe thought it prudent not to keep back his story, but to request the Count's consent to Marie's marriage, as if that had been his own part of his errand this morning. The Count evidently cared nothing about the matter, and would have given his consent as a matter of course, if his son Casimir had been anywhere but in the room. As it was, there were so many questions, the inquiries about Charles were so minute, that Marie grew vexed and angry, and by a look invited her father to say something about the Count's time and be gone. The youth who was reading certainly pitied her, for he said, without raising his eyes from his newspaper,--