and luxury, and who look upon
marriage only as a means of enfranchisement."

His words were disjointed as if emotion choked his utterance. At times,
it seemed as if he could scarcely command his feelings; and then his
voice became so faint and trembling that it was scarcely intelligible.

However, by allowing him to continue, by listening to what he said,
Mademoiselle Marguerite was encouraging him, even more--virtually
binding herself. She understood that this was the case, and making a
powerful effort, she interrupted him, saying: "I assure you, Monsieur
le Marquis, that I am deeply touched--and grateful--but I am no longer
free."

"Pray, mademoiselle, pray do not reply to-day. Grant me a little time to
overcome your prejudices."

She shook her head, and in a firmer voice, replied: "I have no
prejudices; but for some time past already, my future has been decided,
irrevocably decided."

He seemed thunderstruck, and his manner apparently indicated that the
possibility of a repulse had never entered his mind. His eyes wandered
restlessly from Mademoiselle Marguerite to the countenance of the old
magistrate, who remained as impassive as a sphinx, and at last they
lighted on a newspaper which was lying on the floor at the young girl's
feet. "Do not deprive me of all hope," he murmured.

She made no answer, and understanding her silence, he was about to
retire when the door suddenly opened and a servant announced: "Monsieur
de Fondege."

Mademoiselle Marguerite touched the magistrate on the shoulder to
attract his attention. "This gentleman is M. de Chalusse's friend whom I
sent for this morning."

At the same moment a man who looked some sixty years of age entered the
room. He was very tall, and as straight as the letter I, being arrayed
in a long blue frock-coat, while his neck, which was as red and as
wrinkled as that of a turkey-cock, was encased in a very high and stiff
satin cravat. On seeing his ruddy face, his closely cropped hair, his
little eyes twinkling under his bushy eyebrows, and his formidable
mustaches a la Victor Emmanuel, you would have immediately exclaimed:
"That man is an old soldier!"

A great mistake! M. de Fondege had never been in the service, and it was
only in mockery of his somewhat bellicose manners and appearance that
some twenty years previously his friends had dubbed him "the General."
However, the appellation had clung to him. The nickname had been changed
to a title, and now M.