“At the hotel?  Then you’ve seen her?” she burst out.  “What is she like?”

“She is most extremely handsome,” said I.  “Moreover, I am inclined to like her.”

The Mother Superior opened her lips—­to reprove me, no doubt; but the duchess was too quick.

“Oh, you like her?  Perhaps you’re going to desert me and go over to her?” she cried in indignation, that was, I think, for the most part feigned.  Certainly the duchess did not look very alarmed.  But in regard to what she said, the old lady was bound to have a word.

“What is Mr. Aycon to you, my child?” said she solemnly.  “He is nothing—­nothing at all to you, my child.”

“Well, I want him to be less than nothing to Mlle. Delhasse,” said the duchess, with a pout for her protector and a glance for me.

“Mlle. Delhasse is very angry with me just now,” said I.

“Oh, why?” asked the duchess eagerly.

“Because she gathered that I thought she ought to wait for an invitation from you, before she went to your house.”

“She should wait till the Day of Judgment!” cried the duchess.

“That would not matter,” observed the Mother Superior dryly.

Suddenly, without pretext or excuse, the duchess turned and walked very quickly—­nay, she almost ran—­away along the path that encircled the group of graves.  Her eye had bidden me, and I followed no less briskly.  I heard a despairing sigh from the poor old lady, but she had no chance of overtaking us.  The audacious movement was successful.

“Now we can talk,” said the duchess.

And talk she did, for she threw at me the startling assertion: 

“I believe you’re falling in love with Mlle. Delhasse.  If you do, I’ll never speak to you again!”

“If I do,” said I, “I shall probably accept that among the other disadvantages of the entanglement.”

“That’s very rude,” observed the duchess.

“Nothing with an ‘if’ in it is rude,” said I speciously.

“Men must be always in love with somebody,” said she resentfully.

“It certainly approaches a necessity,” I assented.

The duchess glanced at me.  Perhaps I had glanced at her; I hope not.

“Oh, well,” said she, “hadn’t we better talk business?”

“Infinitely better,” said I; and I meant it.

“What am I to do?” she asked, with a return to her more friendly manner.

“Nothing,” said I.

It is generally the safest advice—­to women at all events.

“You are content with the position?  You like being at the hotel perhaps?”

“Should I not be hard to please, if I didn’t?”

“I know you are trying to annoy me, but you shan’t.  Mr. Aycon, suppose my husband comes over to Avranches, and sees you?”

“I have thought of that.”

“Well, what have you decided?”

“Not to think about it till it happens.  But won’t he be thinking more about you than me?”