“Yes!”

“I do not:  and in your place—­”

“What would you have done?”

“Enough, certainly, to have learned her name and—­”

“Anne, you don’t know her.”

“No, but I know you, Henri.  You had 50,000 crowns that I gave you out of the last 100,000 the king gave to me.”

“They are still in my chest, Anne; I have not touched one of them.”

“Mordieu!  If they were not there, you would be in a different position.”

“Oh! my brother!”

“Certainly.  An ordinary servant may be bought for ten crowns, a good one for 100, an excellent one for 1,000, and a marvel for 3,000.  Let us see, then.  Suppose this man to be the phoenix of all servants—­the beau ideal of fidelity, yet, by the pope! for 20,000 crowns you will buy him.  There would then remain 30,000 crowns for the phoenix of women, and all would be settled.”

“Anne!” sighed Henri, “there are people who cannot be bought; there are hearts that the king is not rich enough to purchase.”

“Well! perhaps so; but hearts are sometimes given.  What have you done to win that of the beautiful statue?”

“I believe, Anne, that I have done all I could.”

“Really, Comte du Bouchage, you are mad.  You see a woman, sad, solitary, and melancholy, and you become more sad, more recluse, and more melancholy than she.  She is alone—­keep her company; she is sad—­be gay; she regrets—­console her, and replace him she regrets.”

“Impossible! brother.”

“Have you tried?  Are you in love, or are you not?”

“I have no words to express how much!”

“Well!  I see no reason to despair.”

“I have no hope.”

“At what time do you see her?”

“I have told you that I do not see her.”—­“Never?”—­“Never!”

“Not even at her window?”

“Not even at her window!”

“We must put an end to that.  Do you think she has a lover?”

“I have never seen any one enter her house, except the Remy of whom I spoke to you.”

“Take the house opposite.”

“It may not be to let.”

“Bah! offer double the rent!”

“But if she sees me there, she will disappear as before.”

“You shall see her this evening.”

“I!”

“Yes!  Be under her balcony at eight o’clock.”

“I am always there.”

“Well, give me the address.”

“Between the Porte Bussy and the Hotel St. Denis, near the corner of the
Rue des Augustins, and a few steps from a large inn, having for a sign,
‘The Sword of the Brave Chevalier.’”

“Very well, then; this evening at eight o’clock.”

“But what do you intend to do?”

“You shall see:  meanwhile, go home; put on your richest dress, and use your finest perfume, and I hope that you will enter the house to-night.”

“May you be a true prophet, brother!”