The Marquise d'Esclignac gave a petulant sigh.
"How impossible you are, Julia. Understand me, my dear, I do not want a woman of my family to be a coquette. I do not want it said that you are an American flirt—it is in bad taste and entirely misunderstood in the Faubourg St.-Germain."
The girl, bewildered by her aunt's attitude and extremely troubled by the threat of the marriage convention, said:
"Don't you understand? In this case it is peculiarly delicate. He might ask me from a sense of honor."
"Not in any sense," said the Marquise d'Esclignac. "It has not occurred to the poor young officer to suppose for a moment that a young woman with millions, as you are so fortunate to be, would derange herself like this to follow him. If I thought so I would not have brought you, Julia. What I have done, I have done solely for your peace of mind, my child. This young man loves you. He believes that you love him, no doubt. You have given him sufficient reason, heaven knows! Now," said her aunt emphatically, "I do not intend that you should break his heart."
It was more than likely that the Marquise d'Esclignac was looking back twenty-five years to a time, when as a rich American, she had put aside her love for a penniless soldier with an insignificant title. She remembered how she had followed his campaign. She folded her lorgnon and looked at her niece. Julia Redmond saw a cloud pass over her aunt's tranquil face. She put her arms around her and kissed her tenderly.
"You really think then, ma tante, that he will come to Paris?"
"Without a doubt, my dear."
"You think he cares, ma tante?"
Her aunt kissed her and laughed.