“What! again, cousin?” said Camors, who, now assured of his danger and its nature, marched with a firmer foot over the burning soil.

“Yes, again, cousin; and I will tell you another thing—­I have found the person.”

“Ah!  Then I shall run away!”

She met his smile with an imperious glance.

“Then you still adhere to that plan?” said Camors, laughing.

“Most firmly!  I need not repeat to you my reasons—­having preached about it all winter—­in fact so much so as to disturb the General, who suspects some mystery between us.”

“The General?  Indeed!”

“Oh, nothing serious, you must understand.  Well, let us resume the subject.  Miss Campbell will not do—­she is too blonde—­an odd objection for me to make by the way; not Mademoiselle de Silas—­too thin; not Mademoiselle Rolet, in spite of her millions; not Mademoiselle d’Esgrigny—­too much like the Bacquieres and Van-Cuyps.  All this is a little discouraging, you will admit; but finally everything clears up.  I tell you I have discovered the right one—­a marvel!”

“Her name?” said Camors.

“Marie de Tecle!”

There was silence.

“Well, you say nothing,” resumed the Marquise, “because you can have nothing to say!  Because she unites everything—­personal beauty, family, fortune, everything—­almost like a dream.  Then, too, your properties join.  You see how I have thought of everything, my friend!  I can not imagine how we never came to think of this before!”

M. de Camors did not reply, and the Marquise began to be surprised at his silence.

“Oh!” she exclaimed; “you may look a long time—­there can not be a single objection—­you are caught this time.  Come, my friend, say yes, I implore you!” And while her lips said “I implore you,” in a tone of gracious entreaty, her look said, with terrible emphasis, “You must!”

“Will you allow me to reflect upon it, Madame?” he said at last.

“No, my friend!”

“But really,” said Camors, who was very pale, “it seems to me you dispose of the hand of Mademoiselle de Tecle very readily.  Mademoiselle de Tecle is rich and courted on all sides—­also, her great-uncle has ideas of the province, and her mother, ideas of religion, which might well—­”

“I charge myself with all that,” interrupted the Marquise.

“What a mania you have for marrying people!”

“Women who do not make love, cousin, always have a mania for matchmaking.”

“But seriously, you will give me a few days for reflection?”

“To reflect about what?  Have you not always told me you intended marrying and have been only waiting the chance?  Well, you never can find a better one than this; and if you let it slip, you will repent the rest of your life.”

“But give me time to consult my family!”

“Your family—­what a joke!  It seems to me you have reached full age; and then—­what family?  Your aunt, Madame de la Roche-Jugan?”