“Very beautiful.”

“She is a companion, engaged by my mother to stay here until I marry.”

The hidden meaning of this jesting speech seemed to disgust M. de Villiers; he cast upon his friend a severe and scornful look that clearly said:  You conceited puppy!  I think, but am not certain, this look also signified:  Would-be Lovelace!  Provincial Don Juan, &c.

At dinner I was placed opposite him, and all during the meal I was wondering why this handsome, elegant, distinguished-looking young man should be nicknamed Don Quixote.  Thoughtful observation solved the enigma.  Don Quixote was ridiculed for two things:  being very ugly and being too generous.  And I confess I felt myself immediately fascinated by his captivating characteristics.

After dinner we were on the terrace, when he approached me and said with a smile: 

“I am distressed, madame, to think that without knowing you, I must have made a disagreeable impression.”

“I confess that you startled me.”

“How pale you turned!... perhaps you were expecting some one!” ...  He asked this question with a troubled look and such charming anxiety that I answered quickly—­too quickly, perhaps: 

“No, monsieur, I did not expect any one.”

“You saw me coming up the walk?”

“Yes, I saw you coming.”

“But was there any reason why I should have caused you this sudden fright!... some resemblance, perhaps?—­no?—­It is strange ...  I am puzzled.”

“And I am also very much puzzled, monsieur.”

“About me!...  What happiness!”

“I wish to know why you are called Don Quixote?”

“Ah! you embarrass me by asking for my great secret, Madame, but I will confide it to you, since you are kind enough to be interested in me.  I am called Don Quixote because I am a kind of a fool, an original, an enthusiastic admirer of all noble and holy things, a dreamer of noble deeds, a defender of the oppressed, a slayer of egotists; because I believe in all religions, even the religion of love.  I think that a man ought to respect himself out of respect to the woman who loves him; that he should constantly think of her with devotion, avoid doing anything that could displease her, and be always, even in her absence, courteous, pleasing, amiable, I would even say loveable, if the word were admissible; a man who is beloved is, according to my ridiculous ideas, a sort of dignitary; he should thenceforth behave as if he were an idol, and deify himself as much as possible.  I also have my patriotic religion; I love my country like an old member of the National Guard....  My friends say I am a real Vaudeville Frenchman.  I reply that it is better to be a real Vaudeville Frenchman than an imitation of English jockeys, as they are; they call me knight-errant because I reprove them for speaking coarsely of women.  I advise them to keep silent and conceal their misdeeds.