Our neighbors, to the number of sixteen, are now assembled in my cabinet, transformed for the time into a council chamber." Martial shuddered at the thought of all the ridiculous and tiresome conversation he would probably be obliged to hear; and his father's recommendation occurred to him.
"Shall we not have the honor of paying our respects to Mademoiselle de Courtornieu ?" "My daughter must be in the drawing-room with our cousin," replied the marquis, in an indifferent tone; "at least, if she is not in the garden." This might be construed into, "Go and look for her if you choose." At least Martial understood it in that way; and when they entered the hall, he allowed his father and the marquis to go upstairs without him.
A servant opened the door of the drawing-room for him--but it was empty.
"Very well," said he; "I know my way to the garden." But he explored it in vain; no one was to be found.
He decided to return to the house and march bravely into the presence of the dreaded enemy.

He had turned to retrace his steps when, through the foliage of a bower of jasmine, he thought he could distinguish a white dress.
He advanced softly, and his heart quickened its throbbing when he saw that he was right.
Mlle.

Blanche de Courtornieu was seated on a bench beside an old lady, and was engaged in reading a letter in a low voice.
She must have been greatly preoccupied, since she had not heard Martial's footsteps approaching.
He was only ten paces from her, so near that he could distinguish the shadow of her long eyelashes.

He paused, holding his breath, in a delicious ecstasy.
"Ah! how beautiful she is!" he thought.

Beautiful?
no.