“I am proud and happy to obey your lordship’s commands,” the worthy landlord answered, with a low bow; “my cellar, my kitchen, my tongue and myself are all at your lordship’s disposition.  Isabelle is an actress, belonging to the celebrated troupe of Seignior Herode, stopping at present at the Armes de France.”

“An actress!” exclaimed the young duke, with an air of disappointment.  “I should have taken her for a lady of rank, from her quiet, dignified mien, or at least a well-bred bourgeoise, rather than a member of a band of strolling players.”

“Yes, your lordship is right; any one might think so, for her manners and appearance are very lady-like, and she has an untarnished reputation, despite the difficulties of her position.  No one understands better how to keep all the gallants that hover about her at a respectful distance; she treats these would-be suitors for her favour with a cold, reserved, yet perfect politeness that there is no getting over.”

“What you say pleases me,” interrupted Vallombreuse, “for there is nothing I so thoroughly despise as a fortress that is ready to capitulate before the first assault has been made.”

“It would need more than one to conquer this fair citadel, my lord, though you are a bold and successful captain, not used to encountering any serious resistance, and sweeping everything before you; and, moreover, it is guarded by the vigilant sentinel of a pure and devoted love.”

“Oh ho! she has a lover then, this modest Isabelle!” cried the young duke, in a tone at once triumphant and annoyed, for though on the one side he had no faith in the steadfast virtue of any woman, on the other he was vexed to learn that he had a successful rival.

“I said love, not lover,” continued the landlord with respectful persistency, “which is by no means the same thing.  Your lordship is too well versed in such matters not to appreciate the difference.  A woman that has one lover may have two, as the old song says; but a woman who loves, with a pure love, and has that love returned in every sense, it is impossible, or at least very difficult, to win away from it.  She possesses already everything that you, my lord, or any one, could offer for her acceptance.”

“You talk as if you had been studying the subject of love diligently—­and Petrarch’s sonnets as well; but notwithstanding all that, Maitre Bilot, I don’t believe you thoroughly understand anything outside of your own wines and sauces, which, I am bound to admit, are always excellent.  And pray, who is the favoured object of this Platonic attachment?”

“One of the members of the troupe,” Bilot replied, “and it is not to be wondered at, for he’s a handsome young fellow, and very different from the rest of them; far superior, more like a gentleman than an actor; and I shrewdly suspect he is one,” added the landlord, with a knowing look.

“Well, now you must be happy!” said the Chevalier de Vidalinc to his friend.  “Here are unexpected obstacles in plenty, and a perfect none-such of a prize.  A virtuous actress is a rare phenomenon, not to be found every day in the week.  You are in luck!”