e paused--started, as if his yellow boots had
conveyed some shocking meaning--and glanced suddenly up into the
wearer's countenance. Their eyes met; shame gave place to horror and
terror in her looks; the blood left her lips; with a piercing scream she
covered her face with her hands and sank upon the chapel floor.

"That is not the man!" she cried. "My uncle, that is not the man!"

The Sire de Maletroit chirped agreeably. "Of course not," he said, "I
expected as much. It was so unfortunate you could not remember his
name."

"Indeed," she cried, "indeed, I have never seen this person till this
moment--I have never so much as set eyes upon him--I never wish to see
him again. Sir," she said, turning to Denis, "if you are a gentleman,
you will bear me out. Have I ever seen you--have you ever seen
me--before this accursed hour?"

"To speak for myself, I have never had that pleasure," answered the
young man. "This is the first time, messire, that I have met with your
engaging niece."

The old gentleman shrugged his shoulders.

"I am distressed to hear it," he said. "But it is never too late to
begin. I had little more acquaintance with my own late lady ere I
married her; which proves," he added with a grimace, "that these
impromptu marriages may often produce an excellent understanding in the
long-run. As the bridegroom is to have a voice in the matter, I will
give him two hours to make up for lost time before we proceed with the
ceremony." And he turned towards the door, followed by the clergyman.

The girl was on her feet in a moment. "My uncle, you cannot be in
earnest," she said. "I declare before God I will stab myself rather than
be forced on that young man. The heart rises at it; God forbids such
marriages; you dishonour your white hair. Oh, my uncle, pity me! There
is not a woman in all the world but would prefer death to such a
nuptial. Is it possible," she added, faltering--"is it possible that you
do not believe me--that you still think this"--and she pointed at Denis
with a tremor of anger and contempt--"that you still think _this_ to be
the man?"

"Frankly," said the old gentleman, pausing on the threshold, "I do. But
let me explain to you once for all, Blanche de Maletroit, my way of
thinking about this affair. When you took it into your head to dishonour
my family and the name that I have borne, in peace and war, for more
than threescore years, you forfeited, not only the right to question my
designs