“When, uncle?”
“To-morrow.”
“But, my dear uncle, I am not committed to anything?”
“Nothing whatever, and you may bombard him, set fire to him, and leave him to founder like an old hulk if you choose. He won’t be the first, I fancy?”
“You ARE kind, uncle!”
As soon as the Count got home he put on his glasses, quietly took the card out of his pocket, and read, “Maximilien Longueville, Rue de Sentier.”
“Make yourself happy, my dear niece,” he said to Emilie, “you may hook him with any easy conscience; he belongs to one of our historical families, and if he is not a peer of France, he infallibly will be.”
“How do you know so much?”
“That is my secret.”
“Then do you know his name?”