“My dear father—”
“Silence; have you those letters? Let me see them. Come, no delay; I will have those bits of paper, if I turn the whole house upside down.”
With a sigh Marie gave the much prized missives to her father; there were four only, fastened together with a morsel of blue ribbon.
He took one out at random, and read it aloud, with a running fire of oaths and invectives as a commentary upon its contents.
“MADEMOISELLE,—
“Though there is nothing upon earth that I dread so much as your anger, I dare, in spite of your commands to the contrary, to write to you once again. I have learned that you are about to quit Paris for several months. I am twenty-four years of age. I have neither father nor mother, and am entirely my own master. I belong to an ancient and honorable family. My fortune is a large one, and my love for you is of the most honorable and devoted kind. My uncle, M. de Saumeuse, knows your father well; and will convey my proposals to him upon his return from Italy, in about two or three weeks’ time. Once more intreating you to forgive me,
“I remain,
“Yours respectfully,
“GEORGE DE CROISENOIS.”
“Very pretty indeed,” said M. de Puymandour, as he replaced the letter in its envelope. “This is sufficient, and I need not read the others; but pray, what answer did you give?”