PROPOSALS.
On the morrow, at the usual hour for visitors, the count and his mother
sat in the drawing-room awaiting the promised guest. Maurice, at Count
Tristan's solicitation, had very unwillingly consented to postpone his
customary equestrian exercise, and was sauntering in the garden,
wondering over the caprice that prompted his father to desire his
presence at the expected interview. The tramp of hoofs broke his
revery; and a superb equipage, drawn by four noble horses,
postilion-mounted, dashed up the long avenue that led to the château. He
hastened to the carriage-door, and aided the Marchioness de Fleury to
alight.
The living embodiment of graceful affability, she greeted him with a
volley of slaying smiles; then, with an air which betrayed her
triumphant certainty of the execution done, glided past him into the
drawing-room, almost disappearing in a cloud of lace, as she made a
profound obeisance to the countess, and partially rising out of her
misty _entourage_ in saluting Count Tristan.
Her voice had a low, studied sweetness as she softly syllabled some
pleasant commonplaces, making affectionate inquiries concerning the
health of the countess, and simulating the deepest interest as she
apparently listened to answers which were in reality unheard. Ere long,
she winningly unfolded the object 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.
Almost before he had concluded his reply, she rose, and, with the most
enchanting of smiles, courtesied, as though she were making a reverence
in a quadrille of the Lancers, and the lace cloud softly floated out of
the room, the human being it encircled being nearly lost to sight when
it was in motion.
Maurice could not resist the impulse to turn to his father, and express
his amazement that the complimentary proposals made for Bertha by the
Marchioness de Fleury had been so definitely declined, adding, "If my
little cousin had been already engaged, you could not more decidedly
have shut the door upon the duke."
The count bit his lips, and strode up and down the room.
The countess replied, "We have other views for Bertha,--views which we
trust would be more acceptable to herself; but here she comes, and I
have a few words to say to her in private. Take a turn with your father
in the park, Maurice, while I talk to your cousin."
She gave the count a significant glance as she spoke.
Father and son left the room as Bertha entered.
For some minutes the two gentlemen walked side by side in silence.
Finding that his father did not seem inclined to converse, Maurice
remarked, abruptly,--
"Now that the visit of the marchioness is over, I shall take my
postponed ride, if you have no further need of me."
"I _have_ need; let your horse wait a few moments longer," replied the
count. "Can you conceive no reason why we did not for one instant
entertain the proposition of the Marchioness de Fleury?"
"None: it was made entirely according to rule; and, if you will allow me
to say so, common courtesy seemed to demand that it should have been
treated with more consideration."
"Suppose Bertha's affections are already engaged?" suggested the father.
"Ah, that alters the aspect of affairs; but it is hardly possible,--she
is so young, and appears to be so heart-free."
"Still, I think she has a preference; and, if I am not mistaken, her
choice is one that would give us the highest satisfaction."
"Really!" ejaculated Maurice, unsuspiciously. "Whom, then, does she
honor by her election?"
"A very unworthy person!" rejoined the count, in a tone of irritation,
"since he is too dull to suspect the compliment."
"You cannot mean"--began Maurice, in confused amazement, but paused,
unwilling to finish his sentence with the words that rose to his lips.
"I mean a most obtuse and insensible young man, walking by my side, who
has learned to interpret Greek and Latin at college, but not a woman's
heart."
"Impossible! You are surely mistaken. Bertha has only bestowed upon me a
cousinly regard," answered Maurice, evidently more surprised and
embarrassed than pleased by the unexpected communication.
"I presume you do not expect the young lady herself to make known the
esteem in which she holds you, undeserving as you are? You must take our
word for her sentiments. What this alliance would be to our falling
house, I need not represent; it is not even necessary that you should
enter into the merits of this side of the question. You must see that
Bertha is beautiful and lovable, and would make the most delightful
companion for life. Is this not so?"
"Yes, she is beautiful, lovable, and would make a delightful companion,"
answered Maurice, as though he echoed his father's words without knowing
what he said.
"Is she not all you could desire?"
"All,--all I could desire as--as--as a _sister_!" replied Maurice.
"But the question is now of a wife!" rejoined the count, angrily. "Are
you dreaming, that you pore upon the ground and answer in that strange,
abstracted manner?"
Maurice looked up, as if about to speak, but hesitated, dubious what
reply would be advisable.
The count went on.
"Maurice, your grandmother and I have this matter deeply at heart.
Besides, Bertha loves you; you cannot treat her affection with disdain.
Promise me that you will at once have an understanding with her, and let
this matter be settled. It must not be delayed any longer. Why do you
not reply?"
"Yes,--you are right. I ought to have an understanding with her,--_I
will have!_" replied Maurice, still in a brown study.
"That is well; and let it be as soon as possible,--to-day, or to-morrow
at the latest,--before this ball takes place,--before you meet the
Marchioness de Fleury again."
Maurice answered, hastily, "You need not fear that I desire any delay.
You have put an idea into my head which would make suspense intolerable.
I will speak to her without loss of time. And now will you allow me to
wish you good-morning? My horse has been saddled for an hour."
Saying this, he walked toward the stable and called to Gustave, who at
once appeared, leading the horse. The viscount vaulted upon its back,
and, starting off at full gallop, in a few moments was out of sight.
His father was mystified, doubtful of the real feelings of Maurice, and
uncertain what course he meant to pursue, but well assured that he would
keep his word; and, if he did, it would be impossible for him to
introduce this delicate subject without compromising himself,--nay,
without positively offering himself to Bertha. The very mention of such
a theme would be a proposal; and, with this consolatory reflection, he
returned to the château.
As he passed the drawing-room, he caught a glimpse of Bertha, sitting at
his mother's feet. The latter was holding both of the young girl's
hands, and talking to her earnestly. Bertha's countenance wore an
expression of maidenly confusion and perplexity which, even if the count
had not been aware of his mother's intentions, would have betrayed the
nature of her discourse.