For a moment she put aside her visible annoyance to remove his doubts. “I am quite serious, monsieur. There came a formal letter to my uncle this morning from M. de La Tour d’Azyr, announcing the visit and its object. I will not say that it did not surprise us a little...”
“Oh, I see,” cried Andre-Louis, in relief. “I understand. For a moment I had almost feared...” He broke off, looked at her, and shrugged.
“Why do you stop? You had almost feared that Versailles had been wasted upon me. That I should permit the courtship of me to be conducted like that of any village wench. It was stupid of you. I am being sought in proper form, at my uncle’s hands.”
“Is his consent, then, all that matters, according to Versailles?”
“What else?”
“There is your own.”
She laughed. “I am a dutiful niece... when it suits me.”
“And will it suit you to be dutiful if your uncle accepts this monstrous proposal?”
“Monstrous!” She bridled. “And why monstrous, if you please?”
“For a score of reasons,” he answered irritably.