lung at your head about a month ago?" said the banker, rubbing
his hands.

"No, nothing of the sort," replied the young marquis, effectually
declining to understand the jest of his host. "I do not remember that you
ever flung any girl at my head. I came, Sir Lemuel, to tell you that I am
so happy as to have won Miss Levison's consent to be my wife, if we have
your approbation," he added, with a bow.

"Humph! It amounts to about the same thing. Well, my dear boy, you have
my consent and blessing on two conditions."

"Name them, Sir Lemuel."

"The first is, that you can assure me on your honor that you really do
love my daughter. I would not give her to an emperor who did not love her
as she deserves to be loved," said the banker, emphatically.

"Love her!" repeated the young man, in a deep and earnest tone. "Love is
scarcely the word, nor adoration, nor worship! She is the soul of my
soul! She lives in my life, and my life is the larger, higher, holier for
her!"

"Humph! I don't understand one word of what you are talking about, but I
suppose it means that you really do love Salome. So the first condition
will be fulfilled," said the banker, with a smile.

"And the second, sir. What is the second?"

"The second is, that the marriage shall take place within a month from
this time."

"Agreed, sir. The sooner the better. The sooner I may call your lovely
daughter mine, the sooner I shall be the most blessed among men,"
exclaimed the young marquis, earnestly clapping his palm into the open
hand of the banker, and shaking it heartily.

"There! well, the second condition will be fulfilled. And now I will tell
you what I never told you in so many words before, namely, that on the
day Salome Levison becomes Marchioness of Arondelle, I will give her Lone
as a marriage portion. There, now, not a word more upon that subject. I
will send a message to my attorney to meet us here to-morrow morning,"
said the banker, rising and ringing the bell.

"You will let me thank--" began the marquis.

"No, I won't!" exclaimed the banker, cutting short the young gentleman's
acknowledgements. "Excuse me now half a minute, I want to write a line,"
he added, as he hastily scribbled off a note.

A footman entered in answer to the bell.

"Take this to the office of the Messrs. Prye, Lincoln's Inn Fields, and
wait an answer," said Sir Lemuel, handing the folded note to the man, who
bowed and retired.

"Prye must meet us here to-morro