The Chevalier de Valois was the malicious manipulator who brought about the crowning misfortune of Madame du Bousquier’s life.  His heart was set on undeceiving her pious simplicity; for the chevalier, expert in love, divined du Bousquier, the married man, as he had divined du Bousquier, the bachelor.  But the wary republican was difficult of attack.  His salon was, of course, closed to the Chevalier de Valois, as to all those who, in the early days of his marriage, had slighted the Cormon mansion.  He was, moreover, impervious to ridicule; he possessed a vast fortune; he reigned in Alencon; he cared as little for his wife as Richard III. cared for the dead horse which had helped him win a battle.  To please her husband, Madame du Bousquier had broken off relations with the d’Esgrignon household, where she went no longer, except that sometimes when her husband left her during his trips to Paris, she would pay a brief visit to Mademoiselle Armande.

About three years after her marriage, at the time of the Abbe de Sponde’s death, Mademoiselle Armande joined Madame du Bousquier as they were leaving Saint-Leonard’s, where they had gone to hear a requiem said for him.  The generous demoiselle thought that on this occasion she owed her sympathy to the niece in trouble.  They walked together, talking of the dear deceased, until they reached the forbidden house, into which Mademoiselle Armande enticed Madame du Bousquier by the charm of her manner and conversation.  The poor desolate woman was glad to talk of her uncle with one whom he truly loved.  Moreover, she wanted to receive the condolences of the old marquis, whom she had not seen for nearly three years.  It was half-past one o’clock, and she found at the hotel d’Esgrignon the Chevalier de Valois, who had come to dinner.  As he bowed to her, he took her by the hands.

“Well, dear, virtuous, and beloved lady,” he said, in a tone of emotion, “we have lost our sainted friend; we share your grief.  Yes, your loss is as keenly felt here as in your own home,—­more so,” he added, alluding to du Bousquier.

After a few more words of funeral oration, in which all present spoke from the heart, the chevalier took Madame du Bousquier’s arm, and, gallantly placing it within his own, pressed it adoringly as he led her to the recess of a window.

“Are you happy?” he said in a fatherly voice.

“Yes,” she said, dropping her eyes.

Hearing that “Yes,” Madame de Troisville, the daughter of the Princess Scherbellof, and the old Marquise de Casteran came up and joined the chevalier, together with Mademoiselle Armande.  They all went to walk in the garden until dinner was served, without any perception on the part of Madame du Bousquier that a little conspiracy was afoot.  “We have her! now let us find out the secret of the case,” were the words written in the eyes of all present.

“To make your happiness complete,” said Mademoiselle Armande, “you ought to have children,—­a fine lad like my nephew—­”