manner of his speech, and could only repeat "Valerie!" in a tone of dismay and terror that delighted Gaston beyond measure. He twirled his mustache, smiled insufferably, set his left arm akimbo, and replied,—
"Yes, Valerie, my little baron. The king himself commands the nuptials, I have consented, the lady is delighted, and my father hastens on the affair. Mademoiselle de Rochenbois with her servants, and escorted by my father and myself, sets out for Paris to-morrow morning; and the marriage will be celebrated in the royal chapel of Versailles immediately upon our arrival. You knew, of course, that I was so happy as to possess Mademoiselle Valerie's approval, and that the marriage was in process of arrangement?"
"I knew that you were a liar when you were a boy, and I have no reason to imagine you improved since," replied François, staring steadily into the eyes of his brother, who, returning the look more fiercely if less fixedly, slowly replied,—
"Among gentlemen, Monsieur le Baron de"—
"Gaston! Gaston, I say!" chimed in the shrill voice of the Count de Montarnaud, whose subtle instinct warned him that the quarrel of the brothers was at a point where interference without apparent suspicion was his most appropriate rôle, and, advancing as he spoke, he ended by linking his arm in that of his elder son, and leading him away; while François with a furious gesture rushed into the château, and vainly sought through all its precincts for Valerie, who was
