“Do you speak seriously, my dear Andrée?”
“Listen, Philippe. The queen has brought me suddenly back, and I must go and change my dress for one fit for a fiancée.” And saying this, with a kiss to Philippe, she ran off.
Philippe remained alone. He could hear what passed in the adjoining room. M. de Taverney entered, and saluted the count with a recherché though stiff politeness.
“I come, monsieur,” said Charny, “to make a request, and beg you to excuse my not having brought my uncle with me, which I know would have been more proper.”
“A request?”
“I have the honor,” continued Charny, in a voice full of emotion, “to ask the hand of Mademoiselle Andrée, your daughter.”
The baron opened his eyes in astonishment—“My daughter?”
“Yes, M. le Baron, if Mademoiselle de Taverney feels no repugnance.”
“Oh,” thought the old man, “Philippe’s favor is already so well-known, that one of his rivals wishes to marry his sister.” Then aloud, he said, “This request is such an honor to us, M. le Comte, that I accede with much pleasure; and as I should wish you to carry away a perfectly favorable answer, I will send for my daughter.”
“Monsieur,” interrupted the count, rather coldly, “the queen has been good enough to consult Mademoiselle de Taverney already, and her reply was favorable.”