He kissed and patted my hand again.
"Start with hate, passionate love, indifference, revolt, disgust—what you will—all husbands at the end of a year inspire the same feeling, one of complacent monotony—that is, if they are not altogether brutes—and from the description of madame, ce jeune Gurrage is at least un brave garçon."
I am of a practical nature, and a thought struck me forcibly. When could Mr. Gurrage have made the demande?
"How did Mr. Gurrage ask for my hand?" I ventured to question grandmamma.
She looked at the Marquis, and the Marquis looked back at her, and polished his eye-glasses.
At last grandmamma spoke.
"That is not the custom here, Ambrosine, but from what I have observed he will take the first opportunity of asking you himself."
Here was something unpleasant to look forward to! It would be bad enough to have to go through the usual period of formal fiançailles of the sort I have always been brought up to expect—but to endure being made love to by Augustus Gurrage! That was enough to daunt the stoutest heart. However, having agreed to obey grandmamma, I could not argue. I only waited for directions. There was a pause, not agreeable to any of us, and then grandmamma spoke.
"You will go to this ball, my child. You will look beautiful, and you will dance with this young man. You will not be so stiff as you have hitherto been, and during the evening he is sure to propose to you. You will then accept him, and bear his outburst of affection with what good grace you can summon up. I will save you from as much as I can, and I promise you your engagement shall be short."
A sudden feeling of dizziness came over me. I have never been faint in my life, but all the room swam, and I felt I must scream, "No, no! I cannot do it!" Then my eyes fell again on grandmamma. The blue mark had returned, but she sat bolt upright. My nerves steadied. I, too, would be calm and of my race.