"Well, I hope so."
"You have someone in view?" asked M. de Rueille, not very well pleased.
"No, not at all; but, you see, the said someone may present himself one day or another—not here, of course, there is no one round here who would be suitable for Bijou; but it is very probable that this winter in Paris—"
Henry de Bracieux, a fine-looking young man of twenty-five years of age, with a strong resemblance to his sister Bertrade, was listening to the words of the marchioness. His eyebrows were knitted, and there was a serious expression on his face. He missed a very easy cannon, and his brother-in-law was astonished.
"Oh, hang it!" he exclaimed; "it is too warm to play billiards. I am going out to have a nap in the hammock."
His sister watched him as he left the room, and then turning towards the marchioness, she whispered:
"He, too!"
The old lady replied, with a touch of ill-humour:
"Bijou cannot marry all the family, anyhow. Ah! here she is, we must not talk about it."
Just at that moment the graceful figure of the young girl appeared in the doorway leading to the stone steps.