She followed him into his study, and as soon as they were alone, without
giving her father time to seat himself, Mlle. Blanche entreated him to
tell her all that had passed between the Duc de Sairmeuse and himself,
and asked if Martial had been informed of the intended alliance, and
what he had replied.

Her voice was meek, her eyes tearful; her manner indicated the most
intense anxiety.

The marquis was delighted.

"My wilful daughter has been playing with fire," he thought, stroking
his chin caressingly; "and upon my word, she has burned herself."

"Yesterday, my child," he replied, "the Duc de Sairmeuse formally
demanded your hand on behalf of his son; your consent is all that is
lacking. So rest easy, my beautiful, lovelorn damsel--you will be a
duchess."

She hid her face in her hands to conceal her blushes.

"You know my decision, father," she faltered, in an almost inaudible
voice; "we must make haste."

He started back, thinking he had not heard her words aright.

"Make haste!" he repeated.

"Yes, father. I have fears."