The Marquis came forward and kissed my hand.

“Remember—­chere enfant,” he said, “marriage is a state required by society.  It is not a pleasure, but it can—­with creature comforts—­become supportable, and it opens the door to freedom et de tous les autres agrements de la vie pour une femme.”

He kissed and patted my hand again.

“Start with hate, passionate love, indifference, revolt, disgust—­what you will—­all husbands at the end of a year inspire the same feeling, one of complacent monotony—­that is, if they are not altogether brutes—­and from the description of madame, ce jeune Gurrage is at least un brave garcon.”

I am of a practical nature, and a thought struck me forcibly.  When could Mr. Gurrage have made the demande?

“How did Mr. Gurrage ask for my hand?” I ventured to question grandmamma.

She looked at the Marquis, and the Marquis looked back at her, and polished his eye-glasses.

At last grandmamma spoke.

“That is not the custom here, Ambrosine, but from what I have observed he will take the first opportunity of asking you himself.”

Here was something unpleasant to look forward to!  It would be bad enough to have to go through the usual period of formal fiancailles of the sort I have always been brought up to expect—­but to endure being made love to by Augustus Gurrage!  That was enough to daunt the stoutest heart.  However, having agreed to obey grandmamma, I could not argue.  I only waited for directions.  There was a pause, not agreeable to any of us, and then grandmamma spoke.

“You will go to this ball, my child.  You will look beautiful, and you will dance with this young man.  You will not be so stiff as you have hitherto been, and during the evening he is sure to propose to you.  You will then accept him, and bear his outburst of affection with what good grace you can summon up.  I will save you from as much as I can, and I promise you your engagement shall be short.”

A sudden feeling of dizziness came over me.  I have never been faint in my life, but all the room swam, and I felt I must scream, “No, no!  I cannot do it!” Then my eyes fell again on grandmamma.  The blue mark had returned, but she sat bolt upright.  My nerves steadied.  I, too, would be calm and of my race.

“Go for a walk now, my child,” she said, “Take your dog and run; it will be good for you.”

You may believe I courtesied quickly to them and left the room without more ado.

When I got out-of-doors and the fresh May air struck my face it seemed to revive me, and I forgot my ugly future and could think only of grandmamma—­poor grandmamma, going away out of the world, and the summer coming, and the blue sky, and the flowers.  Going away to the great, vast beyond—­and perhaps there she will meet Ambrosine Eustasie de Calincourt, and all the other ancestors, and Jacques de Calincourt, the famous friend of Bayard, who died for his lady’s glove; and she will tell them that I also, the last of them, will try to remember their motto, “Sans bruit,” and accept my fate also “without noise.”