"Who told you, mademoiselle, that I had made plans concerning you?"

"Monsieur Frederic, uncle, who learned it from his father."

"The devil! so Monsieur Frederic interests himself in it, does he? What might these plans be, mademoiselle?"

"You should know better than I, uncle."

"Gad! that's true, you're right. Well, yes, I have a plan of my own."

"For my future, uncle?" asked Constance, in a trembling voice.

"Yes, for your marriage, in fact."

"Marriage! can it be possible? Oh! uncle----"

And the sweet girl looked up at the general, with appealing eyes already filled with tears.

"Come, come, calm yourself, morbleu!" exclaimed the general, taking her hand. "Here you are up in arms, as if I proposed to make you unhappy.

Don't you want to marry?"

"Oh! I don't say that, uncle."

"Well, then, why this terror when I tell you that I think of giving you a husband?"

"Why, because I want--I don't want----"

"Because you want and don't want! Deuce take it! why can't a woman ever say what she means! Why don't you tell me at once that you don't want to marry anyone but Frederic?"

"Oh! uncle, did you know----"

"I should have to be as blind as a bat not to know that; and this fine gentleman, who presumes to love my niece--and who sighs and is melancholy and tears his hair, instead of just coming to me and asking for her hand----"

"Oh! my dear uncle--are you really willing?"

"Parbleu! am I in the habit of not being willing to do anything you want?"

"But this marriage with some colonel?"

"That was a fable invented by my old friend--I don't quite know why; but he came to me and begged me to let him say that; I couldn't refuse to let him do as he chose, although I don't understand all this mystery; for it seems to me that when two young people love each other and are suited to each other, there's no need of marching and countermarching to marry them. But, no matter; Montreville has his tactics, and he's bound to follow them. Don't think of telling Frederic this, for his father would be angry with me; but when he comes back, which will be soon, I'll put an end to all this prevarication, and give you to your lover, or he'll end by making himself ill with his sighing."

Constance kissed her uncle and left him; the certainty of happiness made her more beautiful than ever. Frederic soon returned, and inquired anxiously what her uncle had said to her. Constance tried to dissemble her joy; the most loving woman is not sorry to tease her lover a little now and then, for in his torments she sees fresh proofs of his love.

"Well!" said Frederic, impatiently; "why don't you answer me? You have spoken to your uncle about this proposed marriage--has he formed such a plan?"

"Why, yes; he is thinking of marrying me."

"Then I was right!" cried the young man, with an agitation that made Constance tremble; "he is thinking of it; my father told me the truth.

But you shall not be stolen from my love----"

"My dear, don't get excited."

"How can I help it, when you tell me that you are to be married?

Constance, if your uncle is a tyrant, I will carry you off. We will fly together to the ends of the earth! You, you alone, will suffice for my happiness! This very night, if you agree, we will start. What, mademoiselle, you laugh at sight of my despair!"

"Oh! Frederic, what a hot-headed boy you are!"

"Ah! mademoiselle is pleased to give me lessons in self-restraint! It seems to me that this projected marriage doesn't disturb you much. Is this how you love me?"

"Naughty boy! what a savage reproof! Ah! my dear, because my love is more placid than yours, don't think that it is less strong and deep."

"But this marriage that your uncle has in mind?"

"Suppose it were you, monsieur, to whom he thinks of marrying me?"

"Me!"

Frederic's features lightened up with a new expression; and Constance put her finger on his lips, saying:

"Hush! not a word, my dear; uncle forbade me to speak--but how can I let you suffer long?"

"What, Constance, can it really be true? Oh! what bliss! your uncle is the best of men! Let me go and throw myself at his feet!"

"No, indeed! do you want him to scold me? shall I never be able to make you amenable to reason? Sit down here, monsieur, by my side."

"But when may I tell him that I love you?"

"When your father returns--he won't be away much longer, I am sure. Do you know whether he went very far?"

"Why--no--I don't think so; I am not certain."

"Well, my dear, now you are pensive."

"No, indeed I'm not!"

"So long as we were not certain of our happiness, I overlooked these dreamy airs, these fits of melancholy that seize you sometimes when you are with me; but understand, monsieur, that I won't have any more of such nonsense. You have no trouble, dear, no secret sorrow, that you can't confide to Constance, have you?"

"Of course not!"

"Promise me that you will tell me everything, absolutely everything; that I shall have your entire confidence. Ought a husband and wife to conceal anything from each other?"

"Yes, Constance, I promise; I will tell you all my thoughts."

Frederic was not absolutely truthful at that moment, but his falsehood was excusable, for his entire confidence just then would not have afforded great pleasure to Constance, who was convinced that her lover thought of no one but her, and who, despite her tranquil air, her gentleness, and her confidence, loved Frederic too ardently not to be susceptible to jealousy, a sentiment which, in women, is almost always inseparably connected with love.

The Comte de Montreville returned to Paris after an absence of nearly a month. Under any other circ.u.mstances, Frederic would have been surprised at the length of a journey which might have been completed in a fortnight, but in Constance's company he had given little thought to it.

When he saw his father again, however, all his memories of Dauphine rushed back into his mind; he was embarra.s.sed in his presence, longing to question him, but shrinking from it.

The count himself did not seem the same as before his departure; he was often pensive and abstracted, as if his thoughts were engrossed by some subject; and when he looked at his son, he, too, seemed to desire and dread an explanation. At last, Frederic ventured to question him, and, contrary to his expectation, his father replied with no trace of the stern, cold manner which he was wont to a.s.sume on approaching that subject.