d Marie grew
sadder and sadder as each day passed on. One day M. de Puymandour
heard so astounding a piece of intelligence that he hurried into the
drawing-room, where he knew that he should find the lovers (as he styled
them) together.

"Well, my children," exclaimed he, "you have set such an excellent
example, that everybody seems disposed to copy you, and the mayor and
the priest will be kept to their work rather tightly this year."

His daughter tried to put on an appearance of interest at this speech.

"Yes," continued M. de Puymandour, "I have just heard of a marriage that
will come off almost directly after yours has been celebrated, and will
make a stir, I can assure you."

"And whose is that, pray?"

"You are acquainted, I presume," returned the father, addressing himself
to Norbert, "with the son of the Count de Mussidan?"

"What, the Viscount Octave?"

"The same."

"He lives in Paris, does he not?"

"Yes, generally; but he has been staying at Mussidan, and in the short
space of a week has managed to lose his heart here; and to whom do you
think? Come, give a guess."

"We cannot think who it can be, my dear father," said Marie, "and we are
devoured with curiosity."

"It is reported that the Viscount de Mussidan has proposed for the hand
of Mademoiselle de Laurebourg."

"Why," remarked Marie, "it is only three weeks since her brother died!"

Norbert flushed scarlet, and then turned a livid white; so great was his
agitation at hearing this news, that he nearly dropped the album which
he held in his hand.

"I like the Viscount," continued M. de Puymandour, "while Mademoiselle
Diana is a charming girl. She is very handsome, and, I believe, has many
talents; and she is a good model for you to copy, Marie, as you are so
soon to become a duchess."

When he got upon his favorite hobby, it was very difficult to check M.
de Puymandour. His daughter, therefore, waited until he had concluded,
and then left the room, under the pretext of giving an order to the
servants. The Count hardly noticed her absence, as he had still Norbert
at his mercy.

"Reverting again to Mademoiselle Diana," said he: "she looks charming
in black, for women should look upon a death in the family as a most
fortunate occurrence; but I ought not to be praising her to you, who are
so well acquainted with her."

"I?" exclaimed Norbert.

"Yes, you. I do not suppose that you intend to deny that you have had a
little flirtation w