"What do you mean by 'he, too'?" exclaimed the marchioness, bewildered in her turn; "who else wants to marry you that you say 'he, too '?"
Denyse blushed crimson.
"I ought to have told you all that before, grandmamma," she said, sitting down on a little stool at Madame de Bracieux's feet; "but we have been so dissipated just lately, what with the paper-chase, the theatre, the races, and the dances, that I don't seem to have had a minute, and then, too, it was not very interesting either."
"Ah! that's your opinion, is it?"
"Well, considering that I don't want to marry either of them."
"Well, but who is it, child, who is it?" asked the marchioness.
"Why, just Henry and Jean. Jean spoke to me first for Henry, who, it seems, had got him to ask me whether I would allow him to ask your permission to marry me. I answered that he ought to have asked you first and not me—"
"You are a real little Bijou, my darling."
"But that it really did not matter, as I did not want to marry him."
"He is not rich enough for you, my dear."