imposing position, one hand buried in his waistcoat, and the other
ready to gesticulate as occasion required.

"Oblige me with your deepest attention," commenced he. "You were
eighteen years of age last month, and I have an important piece of
intelligence to convey to you. I have had an offer of marriage for you."

Marie looked down, and endeavored to hide her confusion at these
tidings.

"Before coming to a conclusion upon a matter of such importance,"
continued he, "it was, of course, necessary for me to go into the
question most thoroughly. I spared no means of obtaining information,
and I am quite certain that the proposed connection would be conducive
to your future happiness. The suitor for your hand is but little older
than yourself; he is very handsome, very wealthy, and is a Marquis by
hereditary right."

"Has he spoken to you then?" inquired Marie in tones of extreme
agitation.

"He! Whom do you mean by he?" asked M. de Puymandour; and as his
daughter did not reply, he repeated his question.

"Who? Why, George de Croisenois."

"Pray, what have you to do with Croisenois? Who is he, pray? Not that
dandy with a mustache, that I have seen hanging about you this winter?"

"Yes," faltered Marie; "that is he."

"And why should you presume that he had asked me for your hand? Did he
tell you that he was going to do so?"

"Father, I declare----"

"What, the daughter of a Puymandour has listened to a declaration of
love unknown to her father? Ten thousand furies! Has he written to you?
Where are those letters?"

"My dear father--"

"Silence; have you those letters? Let me see them. Come, no delay; I
will have those bits of paper, if I turn the whole house upside down."

With a sigh Marie gave the much prized missives to her father; there
were four only, fastened together with a morsel of blue ribbon.

He took one out at random, and read it aloud, with a running fire of
oaths and invectives as a commentary upon its contents.

"MADEMOISELLE,--

"Though there is nothing upon earth that I dread so much as your anger,
I dare, in spite of your commands to the contrary, to write to you
once again. I have learned that you are about to quit Paris for several
months. I am twenty-four years of age. I have neither father nor mother,
and am entirely my own master. I belong to an ancient and honorable
family. My fortune is a large one, and my love for you is of the most
honorable and devoted kind. My uncle, M. d