“No, papa, a thousand times no!” she exclaimed with the impatience of a child.
The colonel looked at her with a sort of joy.
“Ah, I have not influenced you,” cried the true father, “and I will now confess that I chose my son-in-law in Paris when, having made him believe that I had but little fortune, he grasped my hand and told me I took a weight from his mind—”
“Who is it you mean?” asked Modeste, coloring.
“The man of fixed principles and sound moralities,” said her father, slyly, repeating the words which had dissolved poor Modeste’s dream on the day after his return.
“I was not even thinking of him, papa. Please leave me at liberty to refuse the duke myself; I understand him, and I know how to soothe him.”
“Then your choice is not made?”
“Not yet; there is another syllable or two in the charade of my destiny still to be guessed; but after I have had a glimpse of court life at Rosembray I will tell you my secret.”
“Ah! Monsieur de La Briere,” cried the colonel, as the young man approached them along the garden path in which they were walking, “I hope you are going to this hunt?”
“No, colonel,” answered Ernest. “I have come to take leave of you and of mademoiselle; I return to Paris—”