Fontaine, remembering Marsac’s injunction not to be too eager, hummed and ha’d a little for effect. He was deeply indebted to Monsieur Duval for his offer; ninety thousand was a mere bagatelle, etc. Old Duval persisted, and his motive was ridiculously clear; every other word was, “My daughter is fond of the Melun place,”--“My daughter could scarcely be persuaded to leave it even for our finer house at Passy.” Marsac urged the apparently unwilling Fontaine to accept the offer, mentioning several countesses, duchesses, and princesses of their acquaintance who thought about buying places at Melun. At every mention of a title, the old brewer rose to the bait, and was a perfectly happy man when Fontaine agreed to take the place at ninety thousand, and expressed his gratitude to Monsieur Duval for favouring him with the purchase. The old man then got on the subject of his daughter, varied with digressions on his niece Delphine, which seemed to amuse him very much. “A fine, handsome girl she is, but the ‘new woman’ with a vengeance. Believes in a woman’s having a mission, and all that, and is as deadly opposed to matrimony as our friend Marsac,”--at which Monsieur Duval cackled and chuckled with great enjoyment for some time. “By the way,” he continued, “I expect her and my daughter to call for me on their way from a dinner, and they will be here before long. Monsieur Fontaine, will you oblige me by telling the porter to direct them to wait awhile in case I should not be quite ready to go?” Monsieur Duval had an object in getting Fontaine out of the way, for the moment the door closed upon him, he drew his chair up to Marsac’s, and began very seriously, and mopping his forehead in his anxiety: “You know, Monsieur Marsac, I have always thought extremely well of Monsieur Fontaine; and now that he has come into a snug fortune, I should not mind if he--if my daughter--” Here Monsieur Duval winked, and Marsac grinned appreciatively. “I understand perfectly,” answered Marsac. “About ten millions, I hear,” remarked Monsieur Duval, in a whisper. “Oh, no, no!” replied Marsac, deprecatingly. “That is a gross exaggeration. I give you my word, Monsieur Duval, it is nothing like that. I know more about the matter than anybody except Fontaine, and I assure you that it is but two millions.” “And how do you think Monsieur Fontaine feels toward my daughter?”