“That is a point which only concerns her, and you will allow me not to answer that question.”
“Good! we will go on. Though you are in love with her, it is very possible that you have never made any enquiries respecting her family.”
“She has told me that she has a father and a mother, poor but honest, but I confess I have never been curious enough to enquire her name. I only know her baptismal name, which is possibly not her true one, but it does quite well for me.”
“She has given you her true name.”
“Your excellency surprises me! You know her, then?”
“Yes; I did not know her yesterday, but I do now. Two months . . . Marcoline . . . yes, it must be she. I am now certain that my man is not mad.”
“Your man?”
“Yes, she is his niece. When we were at London he heard that she had left the paternal roof about the middle of Lent. Marcoline’s mother, who is his sister, wrote to him. He was afraid to speak to her yesterday, because she looked so grand. He even thought he must be mistaken, and he would have been afraid of offending me by speaking to a grand lady at my table. She must have seen him, too.”
“I don’t think so, she has said nothing about it to me.”
“It is true that he was standing behind her all the time. But let us come to the point. Is Marcoline your wife, or have you any intention of marrying her?”