For many years the Count had been accustomed to that taunting and sarcastic voice, but this feeble joke at such a moment was more than he could endure.
“Don’t address me in that manner,” said he angrily.
“What is the matter—are you not well?”
“Madame!”
“Will you have the kindness to tell me what has taken place?”
The color suffused the Count’s face, and his rage burst forth the more furiously from his having had to suppress it so long; and coming to a halt before the chair in which the Countess was lounging, his eyes blazing with hate and anger, he exclaimed,—
“All I wish to tell you is, that De Breulh-Faverlay shall not marry our daughter.”
Madame de Mussidan was secretly delighted at this reply, for it showed her that half the task required of her by Dr. Hortebise had been accomplished without her interference; but in order to act cautiously, she began at once to object, for a woman’s way is always at first to oppose what she most desires.
“You are laughing at me, Count!” said she. “Where can we hope to find so good a match again?”
“You need not be afraid,” returned the Count, with a sneer; “you shall have another son-in-law.”