“Dearest Isabelle,” he cried, “I am so rejoiced to see you again!  I was obliged to stay away from you much longer than I wished, for it is a great deprivation to me now not to be with you every day—­I have gotten so thoroughly into the habit of depending upon your sweet society.  But I have been occupied entirely with your interests during my absence, and the hope of pleasing my darling sister, and adding to her happiness, has helped me to endure the long separation from her.”

“The way to please me most, as you ought to have known,” Isabelle replied, “was to stay here at home quietly with your father and me, and let us take care of you, instead of rushing off so rashly—­with your wound scarcely healed, or your health fully re-established—­on some foolish errand or other, that you were not willing to acknowledge.”

“Was I ever really wounded, or ill?” said Vallombreuse, laughing.  “Upon my word I had forgotten all about it.  Never in my life was I in better health than at this moment, and my little expedition has done me no end of good.  But you, my sweet sister, are not looking as well as when I left you; you have grown thin and pale.  What is the matter?  I fear that you find your life here at the chateau very dull.  Solitude and seclusion are not at all the thing for a beautiful young woman, I know.  Reading and embroidery are but melancholy pastimes at best and there must be moments when even the gravest, most sedate of maidens grows weary of gazing out upon the stagnant waters of the moat, and longs to look upon the face of a handsome young knight.”

“Oh! what an unmerciful tease you are, Vallombreuse, and how you do love to torment me with these strange fancies of yours.  You forget that I have had the society of the prince, who is so kind and devoted to me, and who abounds in wise and instructive discourse.”

“Yes, there is no doubt that our worthy father is a most learned and accomplished gentleman, honoured and admired at home and abroad; but his pursuits and occupations are too grave and weighty for you to share, my dear little sister, and I don’t want to see your youth passed altogether in such a solemn way.  As you would not smile upon my friend, the Chevalier de Vidalinc, nor condescend to listen to the suit of the Marquis de l’Estang, I concluded to go in search of somebody that would be more likely to please your fastidious taste, and, my dear, I have found him.  Such a charming, perfect, ideal husband he will make!  I am convinced that you will dote upon him.”

“It is downright cruelty, Vallombreuse, to persecute me as you do, with such unfeeling jests.  You know perfectly well that I do not wish to marry; I cannot give my hand without my heart, and my heart is not mine to give.”

“But you will talk very differently, I do assure you, my dear little sister, when you see the husband I have chosen for you.”

“Never! never!” cried Isabelle, whose voice betrayed her distress.  “I shall always be faithful to a memory that is infinitely dear and precious to me; for I cannot think that you intend to force me to act against my will.”