Without paying any attention to the sighs which exhaled from my bosom while scouring the rust from my long, two-handed sword, my uncle, magnifying glass in hand, was engaged in the examination of a lot of medals which he had purchased that morning. Suddenly he raised his head; five o'clock was striking. "The Council!" he cried. When my uncle pronounced that august word, it made a mouthful; for a pin, he would have saluted it bare-headed. But, this time, after a moment's consideration, he tapped his forehead and added, in a tone of supreme relief:-- "No, the sitting does not take place before to-morrow--and I am forgetting that I have to go to the railway station to get the consignment of which I was advised this morning." Rising from his seat, and laying down his glass, he called out:-- "Rose, give me my cane and hat!" Then, turning towards me, he added, in a lowered tone and speaking very quickly:-- "As to you--don't forget our conversation. If you think you can make me say 'yes,' try!--but I don't think you'll succeed. Meanwhile, not a word to Rose, or, by Saint Barthélemy, my patron of happy memory, I'll instantly kick you out of doors!" [Illustration: "AT THAT MOMENT ROSE APPEARED."] At that moment Rose appeared with my uncle's cane and hat, which she handed to him. He kissed her on the forehead; then, giving me a last but eloquent look, hurried from the shop. I went on scouring my double-handed sword. Rose came quietly towards me. "What is the matter with my father?" she asked; "he seems to be angry with you." I looked at her--her eyes were so black, her look so kind, her mouth so rosy, and her teeth so white that I told her all--my love, my suit to her father, and his rough refusal. I could not help it--after all, it was _his_ fault! He was not there: I determined to brave his anger. Besides, there is nobody like timid persons for displaying courage under certain circumstances. My cousin said nothing; she only held down her eyes--while her cheeks were as red as those of cherries in May. I checked myself. "Are you angry with me?" I asked, tremblingly. "Are you angry with me, Rose?" She held out to me her hand. On that, my heart seething with audacity, my head on fire, I cried:-- "Rose--I swear it! I will be your husband!" And as she shook her head and looked at me sadly, I added: "Oh! I well know that my uncle is self-willed, but I will be more self-willed still; and, since he must be forced to say 'yes,' I will force him to say it!" "But how?" asked Rose. Ah! how? That was exactly the difficulty. But, no matter; I would find a way to surmount it! At that moment a heavy step resounded in the street. Instinctively we moved away from each other; I returned to my double-handed sword, and Rose, to keep herself in countenance, set to dusting, with a corner of her apron, a little statuette in its faded red velvet case.