Ernanton exhausted himself in protestations.

“Oh! less warmth, M. de Carmainges, I beg; it is not worth while,” replied she, carelessly.  “Perhaps it was only your name that pleased me; perhaps it is a caprice, and will pass away.  However, do not think yourself too far from perfection, and begin to despair.  I hate perfect people, but I adore devoted ones; remember that.”

Ernanton was beside himself.  This haughty language and proud superiority, yet this frank declaration and abandon, terrified and yet delighted him.  He seated himself near the proud and beautiful lady, and then tried to pass his arm behind the cushions on which she reclined.

“Monsieur,” said she, “it appears you have heard, but not understood me.  No familiarity, if you please; let us each remain in our places.  Some day I shall give you the right to call me yours; but this right you have not yet.”

Ernanton rose, pale and angry.

“Excuse me, madame,” said he, “it seems I commit nothing but follies here; I am not yet accustomed to the habits of Paris.  Among us in the provinces, 200 leagues off, when a woman says ‘I love,’ she loves, and does not hold herself aloof, or take pretexts for humiliating the man at her feet.  It is your custom as a Parisian, and your right as a princess.  I accept it, therefore, only I have not been accustomed to it.  The habit, doubtless, will come in time.”

“Ah! you are angry, I believe,” said the duchess, haughtily.

“I am, madame, but it is against myself; for I have for you, madame, not a passing caprice, but a real love.  It is your heart I seek to obtain, and therefore I am angry with myself for having compromised the respect that I owe you, and which I will only change into love when you command me.  From this moment, madame, I await your orders.”

“Come, come, do not exaggerate, M. de Carmainges; now you are all ice, after being all flame.”

“It seems to me, however, madame—­”

“A truce to politeness; I do not wish to play the princess.  Here is my hand, take it; it is that of a simple woman.”

Ernanton took this beautiful hand respectfully.

“Well, you do not kiss it!” cried the duchess; “are you mad, or have you sworn to put me in a passion?”

“But just now—­”

“Just now I drew it away, while now I give it to you.”

Ernanton kissed the hand, which was then withdrawn.

“Another lesson,” said he.  “Assuredly you will end by killing my passion.  I may adore you on my knees; but I should have neither love nor confidence for you.”

“Oh!  I do not wish that, for you would be a sad lover, and it is not so that I like them.  No, remain natural, be yourself, M. Ernanton, and nothing else.  I have caprices.  Oh! mon Dieu, you told me I was beautiful, and all beautiful women have them.  Do not fear me; and when I say to the too impetuous Ernanton, ‘Calm yourself,’ let him consult my eyes and not my voice.”