"Mademoiselle Dessin!" Rupert said, in astonishment.
"Well, not exactly Mademoiselle Dessin," the marquis said, smiling,
"but la Marquise Adele de Pignerolles, who is by her mother's
side--she was a Montmorency--one of the richest heiresses in
France, and as inheriting those lands, a royal ward, although I,
her father, am alive."
"But even so," Rupert said, "what can his Majesty wish to have her
at court for?"
"Because, as a very rich heiress, and as a very pretty one, her
hand is a valuable prize, and his Majesty may well intend it as a
reward to some courtier of high merit."
"Oh, Monsieur Dessin!" Rupert said, earnestly; "surely you do not
mean that!"
"I am sorry to say that I do, Master Rupert. The Grand Monarque is
not in the habit of considering such trifles as hearts or
inclinations in the bestowal of his royal wards; and although it is
a sort of treason to say so, I would rather be back in England, or
have Adele to myself, and be able to give her to some worthy man
whom she might love, than to see her hand held out as a prize of
the courtiers of Versailles. I have lived long enough in England to
have got some of your English notions, that a woman ought at least
to have the right of refusal."
Rupert said nothing, but he felt sorry and full of pity at the
thought of the young girl he remembered so well being bestowed as a
sort of royal gift upon some courtier, quite irrespective of the
dictates of her own heart.
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