The Champdoce Mystery by Emile Gaboriau (best novels in english txt) 📖

means of obtaining information, and I am quite certain that the proposed connection would be conducive to your future happiness. The suitor for your hand is but little older than yourself; he is very handsome, very wealthy, and is a Marquis by hereditary right.”

“Has he spoken to you then?” inquired Marie in tones of extreme agitation.

“He! Whom do you mean by he?” asked M. de Puymandour; and as his daughter did not reply, he repeated his question.

“Who? Why, George de Croisenois.”

“Pray, what have you to do with Croisenois? Who is he, pray? Not that dandy with a mustache, that I have seen hanging about you this winter?”

“Yes,” faltered Marie; “that is he.”

“And why should you presume that he had asked me for your hand? Did he tell you that he was going to do so?”

“Father, I declare——”

“What, the daughter of a Puymandour has listened to a declaration of love unknown to her father? Ten thousand furies! Has he written to you? Where are those letters?”

“My dear father—”

“Silence; have you those letters? Let me see them. Come, no delay; I will have those bits of paper, if I turn the whole house upside down.”

With a sigh Marie gave the much prized missives to her father; there were four only, fastened together with a morsel of blue ribbon.

He took one out at random, and read it aloud, with a running fire of oaths and invectives as a commentary upon its contents.

“MADEMOISELLE,—

“Though there is nothing upon earth that I dread so much as your anger, I dare, in spite of your commands to the contrary, to write to you once again. I have learned that you are about to quit Paris for several months. I am twenty-four years of age. I have neither father nor mother, and am entirely my own master. I belong to an ancient and honorable family. My fortune is a large one, and my love for you is of the most honorable and devoted kind. My uncle, M. de Saumeuse, knows your father well; and will convey my proposals to him upon his return from Italy, in about two or three weeks’ time. Once more intreating you to forgive me,

“I remain,

“Yours respectfully,

“GEORGE DE CROISENOIS.”

“Very pretty indeed,” said M. de Puymandour, as he replaced the letter in its envelope. “This is sufficient, and I need not read the others; but pray, what answer did you give?”

“That I must refer him to you, my dear father.”

“Indeed, on my word, you do me too much honor; and did you really think that I would listen to such proposals? Perhaps you love him?”

She turned her lovely face towards her father, with the great tears rolling down her cheeks for her sole reply.

This mute confession, for as such he regarded it, put the finishing touch to M. de Puymandour’s exasperation.

“You absolutely love him, and have the impudence to tell me so?”

Marie glanced at her father, and answered,—

“The Marquis de Croisenois is of good family.”

“Pooh! you know nothing about it. Why, the first Croisenois was one of Richelieu’s minions, and Louis XIII. conferred the title for some shady piece of business which he carried out for him. Has this fine Marquis any means of livelihood?”

“Certainly; about sixty thousand francs a year.”

“Humbug! What did he mean by addressing you secretly? Only to compromise your name, and so to secure your fortune, and perhaps to break off your marriage with another.”

“But why suppose this?”

“I suppose nothing; I am merely going upon facts. What does a man of honor do when he falls in love?”

“My dear father—”

“He goes to his solicitor, acquaints him with his intentions, and explains what his means are; the solicitor goes to the family solicitor of the young lady, and when these men of the law have found out that all is satisfactory, then love is permitted to make his appearance upon the scene. And now you may as well attend to me. Forget De Croisenois as soon as you can, for I have chosen a husband for you, and, having pledged my word of honor, I will abide by it. On Sunday the eligible suitor will be introduced to you, and on Monday we will visit the Bishop, asking him to be good enough to perform the ceremony. On Tuesday you will show yourself in public with him, in order to announce the betrothal. Wednesday the marriage contract will be read. Thursday a grand dinner-party. Friday an exhibition of the marriage presents; Saturday a day of rest; Sunday the publication of the banns, and at the end of the following week the marriage will take place.”

Mademoiselle Marie listened to her father’s determination with intense horror.

“For pity’s sake, my dear father, be serious,” cried she.

M. de Puymandour paid no attention to her entreaty, but added, as an afterthought:

“Perhaps you would wish to know the name of the gentleman I have selected as a husband for you. He is the Marquis Norbert, the son and heir of the Duke de Champdoce.”

Marie turned deadly pale.

“But I do not know him; I have never seen him,” faltered she.

“I know him, and that is quite sufficient. I have often told you that you should be a duchess, and I mean to keep my word.”

Marie’s affection for George de Croisenois was much deeper than she had told her father, much deeper even than she had dared to confess to herself, and she resented this disposal of her with more obstinacy than any one knowing her gentle nature would have supposed her capable of; but M. de Puymandour was not the man to give up for an instant the object which he had sworn to attain. He never gave his daughter an instant’s peace, he argued, insisted, and bullied until, after three days’ contest, Marie gave her assent with a flood of tears. The word had scarcely passed her lips, before her father, without even thanking her for her terrible sacrifice, exclaimed in a voice of triumph:

“I must take these tidings to Champdoce without a moment’s delay.”

He started at once, and as he passed through the doorway said:

“Good-by, my little duchess, good-by.”

He was most desirous of seeing the Duke, for, on taking leave of him, the old nobleman had said, “You shall hear from me to-morrow;” but no letter had as yet reached him from Champdoce. This delay however, had suited M. de