“He will be my son-in-law,” he thought.

The marquis believed it best to strike the iron while it was hot.  So, the very next day, he broached the subject to the duke.

His overtures were favorably received.

Possessed with the desire of transforming Sairmeuse into a little principality, the duke could not fail to be delighted with an alliance with one of the oldest and wealthiest families in the neighborhood.

The conference was short.

“Martial, my son, possesses, in his own right, an income of at least six hundred thousand francs,” said the duke.

“I shall give my daughter at least—­yes, at least fifteen hundred thousand francs as her marriage portion,” declared the marquis.

“His Majesty is favorably disposed toward me.  I can obtain any important diplomatic position for Martial.”

“In case of trouble, I have many friends among the opposition.”

The treaty was thus concluded; but M. de Courtornieu took good care not to speak of it to his daughter.  If he told her how much he desired the match, she would be sure to oppose it.  Non-interference seemed advisable.

The correctness of his judgment was fully demonstrated.  One morning Mlle. Blanche made her appearance in his cabinet.

“Your capricious daughter has decided, papa, that she would like to become the Marquise de Sairmeuse,” said she, peremptorily.

It cost M. de Courtornieu quite an effort to conceal his delight; but he feared if she discovered his satisfaction that the game would be lost.

He presented several objections; they were quickly disposed of; and, at last, he ventured to say: 

“Then the marriage is half decided; one of the parties consents.  It only remains to ascertain if——­”

“The other will consent,” declared the vain heiress.

And, in fact, for several days Mlle. Blanche had been applying herself assiduously and quite successfully to the work of fascination which was to bring Martial to her feet.

After having made an advance, with studied frankness and simplicity, sure of the effect she had produced, she now proceeded to beat a retreat—­a manoeuvre so simple that it was almost sure to succeed.

Until now she had been gay, spirituette, and coquettish; gradually, she became quiet and reserved.  The giddy school-girl had given place to the shrinking virgin.

With what perfection she played her part in the divine comedy of first love!  Martial could not fail to be fascinated by the modest artlessness and chaste fears of the heart which seemed to be waking for him.  When he appeared, Mlle. Blanche blushed and was silent.  At a word from him she became confused.  He could only occasionally catch a glimpse of her beautiful eyes through the shelter of their long lashes.

Who had taught her this refinement of coquetry?  They say that the convent is an excellent teacher.