She looked at him till he felt compelled to turn his head away; and then she replied in a tone of resignation,—
“Father, you are master here. I should not tell you the truth, if I said I was not going to suffer cruelly at the idea of a stranger coming here to—But I shall receive her with all due respect.”
Ah! The count was not prepared for such a speedy consent.
“Do not speak of respect,” he said. “Tell me that you will be tender, affectionate, and kind. Ah, if you knew her, Henrietta! She is an angel.”
“What is her age?”
“Twenty-five.”
The count read in his daughter’s face that she thought his new wife much too young for him; and therefore he added, quickly,—
“Your mother was two years younger when I married her.”
That was so; but he forgot that that was twenty years ago.
“However,” he added, “you will see her; I shall ask her to let me present you to her. She is a foreigner, of excellent family, very rich, marvellously clever and beautiful; and her name is Sarah Brandon.”