“Certainly, little one, and I wish us always to remain so. But, you know, some day we shall be obliged to separate.” Marianne looked serious; her smile vanished. “A day in the distant future, father; there is no hurry.” “You will marry. Would you not like to be married?” “That will depend on the husband.” A silence followed. The controller of men felt ill at ease before this child, whose future he had disposed of by calculation. He did not dare speak to her of Agostini, whom he had introduced to her, and praised in her presence only the night before. It was Marianne who took it upon herself to explain the precise situation of things. “I am rather troubled, I confess, at the favour you accord this young Italian count, and at the way in which you speak to me of him.” “My dear child!” exclaimed Lichtenbach. “No! Let me continue,” interrupted Marianne. “Afterwards you may praise your candidate as much as you like. But allow me to speak to you quite freely. Your _protegé’s_ conduct and habits make me uneasy. He does not seem to me frank; he is too polite, and full of compliments. There is something suspicious about this man who is always smiling and flattering. Besides, his voice has no genuine ring about it. His cold, cruel looks belie his handsome face and gentle words. Lastly, dear father, he is a foreigner. Are there no more Frenchmen to marry in France that one should be obliged to look for a _fiancé_ for one’s daughter on the other side of the frontier? He is a count, but I have no ambition in that direction. He does not work, and I should not care to marry any one without business of any kind. Papa, if you wish to please me and consult my tastes, you will choose another suitor. Your daughter is something to you—that you have often given me to understand; you have, perhaps, insisted rather too much on the fact, for I might have formed too good an opinion of myself. Luckily, I am reasonable and modest in my demands. Do not marry me to an idle man, who is also ambitious and wicked. If you want me to be free from anxiety, send away this handsome Italian. He is not the man for me!” Lichtenbach smiled good-humouredly and said—“Then who is?” Marianne blushed, but made no reply. “Ah, ah!” continued Lichtenbach. “So there is a secret, is there? Better tell your father all about it, little one. Have you met some one you like, my dear? Tell me everything; don’t be afraid. You know very well I will do nothing opposed to your wishes. If you do not like Agostini, why did you not tell me so sooner? Come, now, tell me all!” With downcast head she said— “No, no! It is useless. I have only one wish—to stay by your side just as I am. I shall be very happy.” “You are not telling me the truth,” exclaimed Lichtenbach, excitedly. “You must tell me what you mean. Do you imagine there are difficulties in the way? Yes? Of what kind? Is it some one I know?”