“Why!” he exclaimed.  “Is it M. de La Tour d’Azyr who is with your uncle?”

“It is, monsieur,” said she, a world of mystery in voice and eyes, of which M. de Vilmorin observed nothing.

“Ah, pardon!” he bowed low, hat in hand.  “Serviteur, mademoiselle,” and he turned to depart towards the house.

“Shall I come with you, Philippe?” Andre-Louis called after him.

“It would be ungallant to assume that you would prefer it,” said M. de Vilmorin, with a glance at mademoiselle.  “Nor do I think it would serve.  If you will wait... "

M. de Vilmorin strode off.  Mademoiselle, after a moment’s blank pause, laughed ripplingly.  “Now where is he going in such a hurry?”

“To see M. de La Tour d’Azyr as well as your uncle, I should say.”

“But he cannot.  They cannot see him.  Did I not say that they are very closely engaged?  You don’t ask me why, Andre.”  There was an arch mysteriousness about her, a latent something that may have been elation or amusement, or perhaps both.  Andre-Louis could not determine it.

“Since obviously you are all eagerness to tell, why should I ask?” quoth he.

“If you are caustic I shall not tell you even if you ask.  Oh, yes, I will.  It will teach you to treat me with the respect that is my due.”

“I hope I shall never fail in that.”

“Less than ever when you learn that I am very closely concerned in the visit of M. de La Tour d’Azyr.  I am the object of this visit.”  And she looked at him with sparkling eyes and lips parted in laughter.

“The rest, you would seem to imply, is obvious.  But I am a dolt, if you please; for it is not obvious to me.”

“Why, stupid, he comes to ask my hand in marriage.”

“Good God!” said Andre-Louis, and stared at her, chapfallen.

She drew back from him a little with a frown and an upward tilt of her chin.  “It surprises you?”

“It disgusts me,” said he, bluntly.  “In fact, I don’t believe it.  You are amusing yourself with me.”

For a moment she put aside her visible annoyance to remove his doubts.  “I am quite serious, monsieur.  There came a formal letter to my uncle this morning from M. de La Tour d’Azyr, announcing the visit and its object.  I will not say that it did not surprise us a little...

“Oh, I see,” cried Andre-Louis, in relief.  “I understand.  For a moment I had almost feared... " He broke off, looked at her, and shrugged.

“Why do you stop?  You had almost feared that Versailles had been wasted upon me.  That I should permit the court-ship of me to be conducted like that of any village wench.  It was stupid of you.  I am being sought in proper form, at my uncle’s hands.”

“Is his consent, then, all that matters, according to Versailles?”

“What else?”

“There is your own.”

She laughed.  “I am a dutiful niece... when it suits me.”