“It is reported that the Viscount de Mussidan has proposed for the hand of Mademoiselle de Laurebourg.”
“Why,” remarked Marie, “it is only three weeks since her brother died!”
Norbert flushed scarlet, and then turned a livid white; so great was his agitation at hearing this news, that he nearly dropped the album which he held in his hand.
“I like the Viscount,” continued M. de Puymandour, “while Mademoiselle Diana is a charming girl. She is very handsome, and, I believe, has many talents; and she is a good model for you to copy, Marie, as you are so soon to become a duchess.”
When he got upon his favorite hobby, it was very difficult to check M. de Puymandour. His daughter, therefore, waited until he had concluded, and then left the room, under the pretext of giving an order to the servants. The Count hardly noticed her absence, as he had still Norbert at his mercy.
“Reverting again to Mademoiselle Diana,” said he: “she looks charming in black, for women should look upon a death in the family as a most fortunate occurrence; but I ought not to be praising her to you, who are so well acquainted with her.”
“I?” exclaimed Norbert.
“Yes, you. I do not suppose that you intend to deny that you have had a little flirtation with her?”
“I do not understand you.”
“Well, I do then, my boy; I heard all about your making love to her. Why, you are really blushing! What is up now?”