"Good-morning, papa. What do you want with me so early?" Having sung
these words, as though they were the refrain of the melody, she kissed
the Count, not with the familiar tenderness which makes a daughter's
love so sweet a thing, but with the light carelessness of a mistress
confident of pleasing, whatever she may do.
"My dear child," said Monsieur de Fontaine, gravely, "I sent for you
to talk to you very seriously about your future prospects. You are at
this moment under the necessity of making such a choice of a husband
as may secure your durable happiness----"
"My good father," replied Emilie, assuming her most coaxing tone of
voice to interrupt him, "it strikes me that the armistice on which we
agreed as to my suitors is not yet expired."
"Emilie, we must to-day forbear from jesting on so important a matter.
For some time past the efforts of those who most truly love you, my
dear child, have been concentrated on the endeavor to settle you
suitably; and you would be guilty of ingratitude in meeting with
levity those proofs of kindness which I am not alone in lavishing on
you."
As she heard these words, after flashing a mischievously inquisitive
look at the furniture of her father's study, the young girl brought
forward the armchair which looked as if it had been least used by
petitioners, set it at the side of the fireplace so as to sit facing
her father, and settled herself in so solemn an attitude that it was
impossible not to read in it a mocking intention, crossing her arms
over the dainty trimmings of a pelerine a la neige, and ruthlessly
crushing its endless frills of white tulle.
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