as what he said," said Bice, with superb calm. "Now, I remember
that was what he said; but I answered that I knew nothing of
affairs--that it was to dance I wanted, not to talk; and that it was
you, Madama, who disposed of me. It seemed to amuse him," the girl said
reflectively. "Is it for that reason you kiss me? But it was he that
spoke, as you call it, not I."

"You are like a little savage," cried the Contessa. "Don't you care then
to make the greatest marriage, to win the prize, to settle everything
with no trouble, before you are presented or anything has been done at
all?"

"Is it settled then?" said Bice. She shrugged her shoulders a little
within her white cloak. "Is that all?--no more excitement, nothing to
look forward to, no tr-rouble? But it would have been more amusing if
there had been a great deal of tr-rouble," the girl said.

This was in the blue dawn, when the better portion of the world which
does not go to balls was fast asleep, the first pioneers of day only
beginning to stir about the silent streets, through which now and then
the carriage of late revellers like themselves darted abrupt with a
clang that had in it something of almost guilt. Twelve hours after, the
Contessa in her boudoir--with not much more than light enough to see the
flushed and happy countenance of young Montjoie, who had been on thorns
all the night and morning with a horrible doubt in his mind lest, after
all, Bice's careless reply might mean nothing more than that fine system
of drawing a fellow on--settled everything in the most delightful way.

"Nor is she without a sou, as perhaps you think. She has something that
will not bear comparison with your wealth, yet something--which has been
settled upon her by a relation. The Forno-Populi are not rich--but
neither are they without friends."

Montjoie listened to this with a little surprise and impatience. He
scarcely believed it, for one thing; and when he was assured that all
was right as to Bice herself, he cared but little for the Forno-Populi.
"I don't know anything about the sous. I have plenty for both," he said,
"that had a great deal better go to you, don't you know. She is all I
want. Bice! oh that's too foreign. I shall call her Bee, for she must be
English, don't you know, Countess, none of your Bohem--Oh, I don't mean
that; none of your foreign ways. They draw a fellow on, but when it's
all settled and we're married and that sort of thing, she'll have to be
ou