She met his smile with an imperious glance.
“Then you still adhere to that plan?” said Camors, laughing.
“Most firmly! I need not repeat to you my reasons—having preached about it all winter—in fact so much so as to disturb the General, who suspects some mystery between us.”
“The General? Indeed!”
“Oh, nothing serious, you must understand. Well, let us resume the subject. Miss Campbell will not do—she is too blonde—an odd objection for me to make by the way; not Mademoiselle de Silas—too thin; not Mademoiselle Rolet, in spite of her millions; not Mademoiselle d’Esgrigny—too much like the Bacquieres and Van-Cuyps. All this is a little discouraging, you will admit; but finally everything clears up. I tell you I have discovered the right one—a marvel!”
“Her name?” said Camors.
“Marie de Tecle!”
There was silence.
“Well, you say nothing,” resumed the Marquise, “because you can have nothing to say! Because she unites everything—personal beauty, family, fortune, everything—almost like a dream. Then, too, your properties join. You see how I have thought of everything, my friend! I can not imagine how we never came to think of this before!”
M. de Camors did not reply, and the Marquise began to be surprised at his silence.