"And so, gentlemen, you love me?"
Astonished at theis very matter-of-fact plunge, and off their guard by reason of so utterly unforseen an attack, neither of the three knew exactly which way to look, and when one of them, gifted with more hardihood than his companions, was on the point of speaking, Madame de Guéran motioned him to be silent, and went on herself to say—
"In saying that you love me, gentlemen, I am really only expressing my opinion that you are men of honour, incapable of harbouring the idea of marrying any woman for whom you do not entertain a sincere affection. Now, you have, all three of you, proposed to me—none of you will deny that, I presume. You, M. de Morin," she continued, turning towards a tall young man of about thirty-five, whose mien and dress were alike irreproachable, "you have sent to me, in the capacity of ambassadress, your aunt, Madame de Genevray, whom I esteem highly. You, M. Périères, have written to me; and as for you, M. Desrioux, you have spoken outright. There cannot, therefore, be any doubt on the score of your proposals."
MM. de Morin, Périères and Desrioux, thus appealed to, after exchanging a triangular smile of amusement, bowed their assent, and Madame de Guéran resumed her address—
"I am deeply sensible, I can assure you, gentlemen, of the honour which you have done me. No protestations, pray! I am speaking in all seriousness, and I beg that I may be heard in the same spirit. I repeat, I am deeply grateful for the regard, at once respectful and affectionate, which you profess for me. But, if you will pardon me so far, I am at a loss to discover a sufficient reason for such a feeling. Why, you scarcely know me, even as an acquaintance."
Simultaneous protests rose to the lips of the trio, but the Baroness would not give them time to utter a word.
"I have a title," she continued, "and a fortune; I am a widow, and sufficiently well-connected to have the entrée, should I so wish, into the best society in Paris; I am barely five-and-twenty years of age, and I am passably good-looking. That, gentlemen, sums up your knowledge of me, every atom of it. It has now become essential that you should know more, and I take it upon myself to enlighten you."
Having brought this exordium to a conclusion, she rose and approached the tea-table, once more to resume her duties as hostess. But, when the wants of her guests had been attended to, she again, still smiling in her own fascinating manner, resumed her seat on the sofa, and the thread of her discourse.
"My accent, be it ever so slight," she began, "will have told you before this that, if I speak your language as well as you do, I cannot claim your beloved Paris as my birth-place. Indeed, I am an Englishwoman, but I was educated by a French governess. I was married when I was twenty, and since then I have lived uninterruptedly in France. My father, after having passed half his life in exploring the remote parts of Africa, and after having recorded, in connection with them, much valuable information and deep research, one day, when no other course was open to him, made up his mind to betake himself to a quiet life in the bosom of his family. But he could never divest himself of his great interest in those questions which he had, for so long a time, made his study, and up to the day of his death he was one of the most valuable and valued members of the Royal Geographical Society of London. In our drawing-room at home—we lived in London—I have seen, from time to time, most of the celebrated travellers of our age. I remember distinctly having been nursed, when I was quite a little girl, by Overweg and Speke; and I have an equally vivid recollection of having been kissed by Richardson, on his departure for the Soudan, as well as of the tears I shed when we heard the report of his death, which we refused to credit until it received its sad confirmation from the lips of Barth. I knew Edward Vögel, who was treacherously murdered in the Waday territory, Schweinfurth, Baker, Brun-Rollet, and as many more, whose names I cannot recall at this moment, but whom I shall ever hold in remembrance. My father, cosmopolitan rather than English, held our insular prejudices in but slight esteem, and so it happened that, after dinner, instead of receiving a hint to retire, I was permitted to remain in the society of his friends. All the great scientific questions which have stirred the world during the last ten years, have been discussed in my presence by the men best qualified to elucidate them.
"Science, however, was not the unvarying topic of conversation. Slavery, that hideous plague-spot of Africa, and the slave-trade, which still continues in unimpaired activity, frequently occupied the attention, and roused the indignation of our guests. Even now I can call to mind the words of Livingstone one evening, 'Whilst we are sitting here, in ease and pleasure, and surrounded with every comfort, long caravans of slaves are wending their toilsome way towards the markets of Khartoum, Zanzibar, and Timbuctoo. Yoked like oxen, or fastened to a long cord which drags them along in huddled groups, male and female, old and young, they plod along under that burning sun, naked, worn out with fatigue, dying by inches of hunger and thirst. And then, to think that these poor creatures are only an infinitesimal fraction of the victims of the slave-trade! In the man-hunts organised in those accursed countries, thousands die of their wounds or find a last resting-place in the woods whither they have fled for concealment. Yes—corpses and skeletons are the landmarks in the way of the desert.'