ed, save by his
cook's failure in the concoction of a favorite dish.

Count Tristan had drawn largely on his invention when he informed the
Marchioness de Fleury that Bertha's uncle was exceedingly tenacious of
his rights, and jealous of the interference of his niece's relatives in
regard to any future alliance she might form. The marquis never dreamed
of troubling his brain with such a minor matter as matrimony. He was
inclined to be governed entirely by Bertha's predilection,--to leave the
affair wholly to her, throwing off the trouble with the responsibility.
He could have no objection to see her affianced to the Duke de
Montauban,--he would have had none to her union with Maurice de Gramont.
He found it sufficient pleasure to have his bright-faced niece sitting
opposite to him at table, so long as she was gay and had a good
appetite. If he had thwarted her wishes he would have accused himself of
making a base, unkinly attempt to injure her digestion by causing her
annoyance. He considered himself quite incapable of so unworthy, so
harmful so cruel an action.

When she returned from the Chateau de Gramont, he was discomposed at
finding that she brought back a clouded visage, and seemed perfectly
indifferent to the choicest dainties which he caused to be set before
her as the most striking mark of his affection. Indeed, he became so
uncomfortable when she rejected these delicate attentions day after day,
that his mind was gradually prepared to look favorably upon a
proposition which Bertha had resolved to make.

She had been at home about a month; they were dining,--that is, her
uncle was enjoyingly partaking of the meal that rounded his day, while
Bertha's fork played with the oyster _pate_ on her plate, dividing it
into tiny bits, but never lifting one to her mouth. The marquis, after
descanting warmly upon the excellence of the _pate_, which he highly
relished, interrupted his eulogium by saying,--

"My dear child, you have not tasted a morsel of this incomparable
_pate_! It is a triumph of culinary art! If you will just oblige me by
touching a small piece to your lips; the paste is so light it will
magically melt! Really, you _must eat_!"

"I cannot, uncle."

"Try, try; it disturbs me greatly to see you sitting there looking so
gloomy. It will really hurt my digestion, and that would be a frightful
calamity. Don't you like Lucien's cooking? I think him a treasure; but
if you cannot relish what he prepares h