Lydie played him a composition for the piano by Beethoven.
“That is very well played, my pet,” said he, taking Lydie on his knees. “Do you know that we are one-and-twenty years old? We must get married soon, for our old daddy is more than seventy——”
“I am quite happy here,” said she.
“You love no one but your ugly old father?” asked Peyrade.
“Why, whom should I love?”
“I am dining at home, my darling; go and tell Katt. I am thinking of settling, of getting an appointment, and finding a husband worthy of you; some good young man, very clever, whom you may some day be proud of——”
“I have never seen but one yet that I should have liked for a husband——”
“You have seen one then?”
“Yes, in the Tuileries,” replied Lydie. “He walked past me; he was giving his arm to the Comtesse de Serizy.”
“And his name is?”