“I will obey you, mademoiselle,” he said, bowing again. “But first, allow me to tell you how great my hopes have been. M. de Chalusse’s death is an irreparable misfortune for me as for yourself. He had allowed me, mademoiselle, to aspire to the honor of becoming a suitor for your hand. If he did not speak to you on the subject, it was only because he wished to leave you absolutely free, and impose upon me the difficult task of winning your consent. But between him and me everything had been arranged in principle, and he was to give a dowry of three millions of francs to Mademoiselle Marguerite de Chalusse, his daughter.”
“I am no longer Mademoiselle de Chalusse, Monsieur le Marquis, and I am no longer the possessor of a fortune.”
He felt the sharp sting of this retort, for the blood rose to his cheeks, still he did not lose his composure. “If you were still rich, mademoiselle,” he replied, in the reproachful tone of an honest man who feels that he is misunderstood, “I should, perhaps, have strength to keep the sentiments with which you have inspired me a secret in my own heart; but—” He rose, and with a gesture which was not devoid of grace, and in a full ringing voice he added: “But you are no longer the possessor of millions; and so I may tell you, Mademoiselle Marguerite, that I love you. Will you be my wife?”
The poor girl was obliged to exercise all her powers of self-control to restrain an exclamation of dismay. It was indeed more than dismay; she was absolutely terrified by the Marquis de Valorsay’s unexpected declaration, and she could only falter: “Monsieur! monsieur!”
But with an air of winning frankness he continued: “Need I tell you who I am, mademoiselle? No; that is unnecessary. The fact that my suit was approved of by M. de Chalusse is the best recommendation I can offer you. The pure and stainless name I bear is one of the proudest in France; and though my fortune may have been somewhat impaired by youthful folly, it is still more than sufficient to maintain an establishment in keeping with my rank.”
Mademoiselle Marguerite was still powerless to reply. Her presence of mind had entirely deserted her, and her tongue seemed to cleave to her palate. She glanced entreatingly at the old magistrate, as if imploring his intervention, but he was so absorbed in contemplating his wonderful ring, that one might have imagined he was oblivious of all that was going on around him.
“I am aware that I have so far not been fortunate enough to please you, mademoiselle,” continued the marquis. “M. de Chalusse did not conceal it from me—I remember, alas! that I advocated in your presence a number of stupid theories, which must have given you a very poor opinion of me. But you will forgive me, I trust. My ideas have entirely changed since I have learned to understand and appreciate your vigorous intellect and nobility of soul. I thoughtlessly spoke to you in the language which is usually addressed to young ladies of our rank of life—frivolous beauties, who are spoiled by vanity and luxury, and who look upon marriage only as a means of enfranchisement.”
His words were disjointed as if emotion choked his utterance. At times, it seemed as if he could scarcely command his feelings; and then his voice became so faint and trembling that it was scarcely intelligible.
However, by allowing him to continue, by listening to what he said, Mademoiselle Marguerite was encouraging him, even more—virtually binding herself. She understood that this was the case, and making a powerful effort, she interrupted him, saying: “I assure you, Monsieur le Marquis, that I am deeply touched—and grateful—but I am no longer free.”
“Pray, mademoiselle, pray do not reply to-day. Grant me a little time to overcome your prejudices.”