The Duc looked after him with a little smile of amusement and affection flitting across his delicate bloodless lips.
"That is the signal for us to begin our 'conversations,' Monsieur. You have plenipotentiary powers, I think?"
"I--not in the least!" said Tristram, somewhat alarmed. "I have no--no official position at all in the matter. It will be between yourself, M. le Duc, and the lady's father. Anything that I can arrange, in the way of a meeting between you, I shall be happy to do, and any information I have is at your service. Beyond that I cannot go."
The older man bowed. "You are a kinsman, I think, Monsieur?"
"Distant," said Tristram. "I rather count myself an old friend."
"And--pardon me if I ask an impertinent question, but we must know where we stand--as a kinsman and as an old friend, you have yourself no objection to this alliance?"
"I am solely desirous of Miss Grenville's happiness," responded Tristram, his eyes on the foot of his wineglass.
"And you think that the match with my son will ensure it?"
"How can I possibly say? But I hope that it may take place."
"Merci, Monsieur, for your courtesy," said the Duc, very courteously himself. "Now I in my turn must make my position clear to you. I had other views for my son--in fact I thought he ... had other views for himself. I am, however, convinced that he is passionately in love with this lady, whom I doubt not I shall find to be all and more than all that he represents. But you know, Monsieur, that we French people do not look with favour upon marriages of love. We prefer that love should come after marriage. We find it better so. Then there is the difference of race. To these young people that seems nothing now, but it tells, Monsieur, it tells more and more through life. This objection naturally applies on your side also; not so the former, for you are more sentimental than we are." He was arranging two little groups of almonds with fingers as blanched as they.
"I seem to remember," commented Tristram, "that the Comte de Flahault, coming over to England, fell in love with an English lady and married her, and that they are living happily in Paris at this very moment."
"Quite true," said the Duc, with the air of one acknowledging a point, and he added another almond to the smaller pile. "But I cannot wholly allow the parallel. M. de Flahault was an Imperialist--an aide-de-camp of Napoleon in fact; he is now an Orleanist, and the lady, she was titrée, noble in her own right, I believe, the Baroness Keats, or Keat, il me semble."