"She loves you, then, old simpleton?"
"I think she does—I know she does—"
"May we not ask the honour of being presented?"
"Some other time, gentlemen—not now—she's not here—she's gone out for a walk."
"Impossible, my dear lord; we must have met her as we came up stairs."
"She has a headache—she's gone to lie down for a few minutes," said the marquis, getting more and more anxious to keep Louise from the intrusion of his visitors.
"I have an excellent cure for headaches of all kinds," exclaimed the baron, and proceeded towards the bed-room door. The Marquis de Bouillon, however, put himself between; but the duke and vicomte pulled him aside, and the baron began to rat-tat on the door.
"Come forth, madam!" he began, "we are dying for a sight of your angelic charms. De Bouillon begs you to honour us with your presence. Hark, she's coming!" he added, and drew back as he heard the bolt withdrawn on the other side.
"Stay where you are! don't come out!" shouted De Bouillon, still in the hands of his friends. "I charge you, don't move a step!" But his injunctions were vain; the door opened, and, sailing majestically into the room, drest out in hoop and furbelow, and waving her fan affectedly before her face, appeared Miss Lucretia Smith—
"Did you visit to see me, gentlemen? I'm always delighted to see any one as is civil enough to give us a forenoon call."