ying, in a dry tone: "If you begin that
business once again, I shall not come here any more."

Towards the end of March the marriage of the two sisters was all at once
spoken about. Rose, it was said, was to marry the Count de
Latour-Yvelin, and Susan the Marquis de Cazolles. These two gentlemen
had become familiars of the household, those familiars to whom special
favors and marked privileges are granted. George and Susan continued to
live in a species of free and fraternal intimacy, romping for hours,
making fun of everyone, and seeming greatly to enjoy one another's
company. They had never spoken again of the possible marriage of the
young girl, nor of the suitors who offered themselves.

The governor had brought George home to lunch one morning. Madame Walter
was called away immediately after the repast to see one of the
tradesmen, and the young fellow said to Susan: "Let us go and feed the
goldfish."

They each took a piece of crumb of bread from the table and went into
the conservatory. All along the marble brim cushions were left lying on
the ground, so that one could kneel down round the basin, so as to be
nearer the fish. They each took one of these, side by side, and bending
over the water, began to throw in pellets of bread rolled between the
fingers. The fish, as soon as they caught sight of them, flocked round,
wagging their tails, waving their fins, rolling their great projecting
eyes, turning round, diving to catch the bait as it sank, and coming up
at once to ask for more. They had a funny action of the mouth, sudden
and rapid movements, a strangely monstrous appearance, and against the
sand of the bottom stood out a bright red, passing like flames through
the transparent water, or showing, as soon as they halted, the blue
edging to their scales. George and Susan saw their own faces looking up
in the water, and smiled at them. All at once he said in a low voice:
"It is not kind to hide things from me, Susan."

"What do you mean, Pretty-boy?" asked she.

"Don't you remember, what you promised me here on the evening of the
fete?"

"No."

"To consult me every time your hand was asked for."

"Well?"

"Well, it has been asked for."

"By whom?"

"You know very well."

"No. I swear to you."

"Yes, you do. That great fop, the Marquis de Cazolles."

"He is not a fop, in the first place."

"It may be so, but he is stupid, ruined by play, and worn out by
dissipation. It is really a nice match