ect of her visit. Her brother, the young
Duke de Montauban, had prayed her to become his ambassador. He recently
had the felicity of meeting the niece of the Countess de Gramont,
Mademoiselle Bertha de Merrivale. He had been struck and captivated by
her grace and surpassing beauty; he now charged his sister to apprise
the family of Mademoiselle Bertha that he sought the honor of her hand
in marriage, and hoped to obtain a favorable response to his suit.

The consternation created by those words did not escape the quick eyes
of the marchioness. The count half rose from his seat, white with
vexation, then sat down again, and, making an attempt to hide his
displeasure, answered, in a tone of forced courtesy,--

"Though Mademoiselle Bertha de Merrivale is my mother's grandniece, we
have no control over her actions or inclinations. Her uncle, the Marquis
de Merrivale, who is her guardian, is morbidly jealous of any influence
exerted over his niece, even by relatives equally near."

The Countess de Gramont, though she also had been greatly disconcerted,
recovered herself more quickly than her son, and answered, with such an
excess of suavity that it had the air of exaggeration,--

"We feel deeply indebted for the proposed honor. An alliance with a
nobleman of the high position and unblemished name of the Duke de
Montauban is all that could be desired for my niece; but, as my son has
remarked, her guardian is very punctilious respecting his rights, and
would not tolerate an interference with her future prospects. I beg you
will believe that we are highly flattered by the proposal of the Duke
de Montauban, though we have no power to promote his suit."

Maurice could not help wondering why his father looked so thoroughly
vexed, and why his grandmother made such an effort to conceal her
displeasure by an assumption of overacted gratification.

The Marchioness de Fleury betrayed neither surprise, disappointment, nor
emotion of any kind, except by gently tapping the ground with the
exquisitely gaitered little foot that peeped from the mazes of her ample
drapery.

She answered, in the most honeyed voice, "Oh! I was misinformed, and I
knew that your charming niece was at this moment visiting you."

Then, spreading her bespangled fan, and moving it gently backward and
forward, though the day was far from sultry, she dismissed the subject
by asking Maurice if he had delivered Madame de Tremazan's invitations
to the ball.

Alm