Three years passed in this pleasant intercourse, when the monotony of their lives was broken by the arrival of an old friend of Madame Dumesnil--a Monsieur de Vaissiere. When they had last met, she was in the morning of her beauty and bliss, he a handsome youth, for whom many a fair one had sighed, and in vain--as he was still unmarried. What a change! He could not recognize the lovely young countess, whose marriage had been attended with so much éclat--so many rejoicings; nor could she see one vestige of the blooming countenance, the delicate profile, and the jet-black wavy locks that once shaded his fair, open brow. But these works of time were soon forgotten, and the desire of the proud, harsh mother was accomplished when, after a few weeks, M. de Vaissiere proposed for the hapless Pauline. Unconsciously, but with the thoughtlessness of selfishness, Madame Dumesnil sacrificed her child to her prejudices. M. de Vaissiere's opinions and _hers_ were the same; their admiration of _le vieux systeme_--their fond recollection of the unfortunate monarch, whose weakness they had never reproached him with, even in their secret souls--their abhorrence of Bonaparte--their contempt for _la noblesse Napoleonne_--their upturned noses at their adopted countrymen, _les Americains_--their want of faith in hearts and love--the sinecure-ism of young people--their presumption--their misfortune being that they _were_ young and not born old--and finally, the coincidence of opinions wherein both looked upon the white-headed suitor as a most eligible husband for the young, the blooming, the beautiful Pauline.
M. de Vaissiere settled a _dot_ upon his _fiancée_, and ordered a _trousseau_ and a _corbeille_, not forgetting the _cachemire_. The preliminaries were arranged, the day hinted at, and Pauline was informed with a flourish of trumpets that her destiny was fixed.
She listened to her mother's rhapsodies over the admirable _parti_ Providence had enabled her to provide for her child in the wilderness of America; she heard her enlarge upon her own excellence as a parent, of the favor she had conferred upon her in bringing her into the world; of her consequent obligations, and the gratitude she owed her mother when she recollected that not content with giving her life, she had clothed, fed, and supported her until now. All this Pauline received in a silence that resembled stupor; but when M. de Vaissiere was again mentioned, she fell, with a scream of terror, at her mother's feet.
