Camusot senior, the President and his wife, Cecile, Brunner, Berthier, and Pons were now left together; for it was assumed that the formal demand for Cecile’s hand was about to be made. No sooner was Cardot gone, indeed, than Brunner began with an inquiry which augured well.
“I think I understood,” he said, turning to Mme. de Marville, “that mademoiselle is your only daughter.”
“Certainly,” the lady said proudly.
“Nobody will make any difficulties,” Pons, good soul, put in by way of encouraging Brunner to bring out his proposal.
But Brunner grew thoughtful, and an ominous silence brought on a coolness of the strangest kind. The Presidente might have admitted that her “little girl” was subject to epileptic fits. The President, thinking that Cecile ought not to be present, signed to her to go. She went. Still Brunner said nothing. They all began to look at one another. The situation was growing awkward.
Camusot senior, a man of experience, took the German to Mme. de Marville’s room, ostensibly to show him Pons’ fan. He saw that some difficulty had arisen, and signed to the rest to leave him alone with Cecile’s suitor-designate.
“Here is the masterpiece,” said Camusot, opening out the fan.
Brunner took it in his hand and looked at it. “It is worth five thousand francs,” he said after a moment.
“Did you not come here, sir, to ask for my granddaughter?” inquired the future peer of France.
“Yes, sir,” said Brunner; “and I beg you to believe that no possible marriage could be more flattering to my vanity. I shall never find any one more charming nor more amiable, nor a young lady who answers to my ideas like Mlle. Cecile; but—”