“Oh, I have often heard whispers of things that seem to me most strange—the father a Bonapartist, the son a Royalist; what can have been the reason of so singular a difference in parties and politics? But to resume my story; I turned towards my grandfather, as though to question him as to the cause of his emotion; he looked expressively at the newspaper I had been reading. ‘What is the matter, dear grandfather?’ said I, ‘are you pleased?’ He gave me a sign in the affirmative. ‘With what my father said just now?’ He returned a sign in the negative. ‘Perhaps you liked what M. Danglars said?’ Another sign in the negative. ‘Oh, then, you were glad to hear that M. Morrel (I didn’t dare to say Maximilian) had been made an officer of the Legion of Honor?’ He signified assent; only think of the poor old man’s being so pleased to think that you, who were a perfect stranger to him, had been made an officer of the Legion of Honor! Perhaps it was a mere whim on his part, for he is falling, they say, into second childhood, but I love him for showing so much interest in you.”
“How singular,” murmured Maximilian; “your father hates me, while your grandfather, on the contrary—What strange feelings are aroused by politics.”
“Hush,” cried Valentine, suddenly; “someone is coming!” Maximilian leaped at one bound into his crop of lucern, which he began to pull up in the most ruthless way, under the pretext of being occupied in weeding it.
“Mademoiselle, mademoiselle!” exclaimed a voice from behind the trees. “Madame is searching for you everywhere; there is a visitor in the drawing-room.”
“A visitor?” inquired Valentine, much agitated; “who is it?”