“My dear friend,” he said, “I am not only the most unfortunate man in the world, but I am also the most ridiculous; and I come to you to get me out of the hornet’s nest into which I have run myself.  Modeste is a demon; she sees my difficulty and she laughs at it; she has just spoken to me of a fragment of a letter of Madame de Chaulieu, which I had the folly to give her; if she shows it I can never make my peace with Eleonore.  Therefore, will you at once ask Modeste to send me back that paper, and tell her, from me, that I make no pretensions to her hand.  Say I count upon her delicacy, upon her propriety as a young girl, to behave to me as if we had never known each other.  I beg her not to speak to me; I implore her to treat me harshly,—­though I hardly dare ask her to feign a jealous anger, which would help my interests amazingly.  Go, I will wait here for an answer.”

CHAPTER XXVIII

MODESTE BEHAVES WITH DIGNITY

On re-entering the salon Ernest de La Briere found a young officer of the company of the guard d’Havre, the Vicomte de Serizy, who had just arrived from Rosny to announce that Madame was obliged to be present at the opening of the Chambers.  We know the importance then attached to this constitutional solemnity, at which Charles X. delivered his speech, surrounded by the royal family,—­Madame la Dauphine and Madame being present in their gallery.  The choice of the emissary charged with the duty of expressing the princess’s regrets was an attention to Diane, who was then an object of adoration to this charming young man, son of a minister of state, gentleman in ordinary of the chamber, only son and heir to an immense fortune.  The Duchesse de Maufrigneuse permitted his attentions solely for the purpose of attracting notice to the age of his mother, Madame de Serizy, who was said, in those chronicles that are whispered behind the fans, to have deprived her of the heart of the handsome Lucien de Rubempre.

“You will do us the pleasure, I hope, to remain at Rosembray,” said the severe duchess to the young officer.

While giving ear to every scandal, the devout lady shut her eyes to the derelictions of her guests who had been carefully selected by the duke; indeed, it is surprising how much these excellent women will tolerate under pretence of bringing the lost sheep back to the fold by their indulgence.

“We reckoned without our constitutional government,” said the grand equerry; “and Rosembray, Madame la duchesse, will lose a great honor.”

“We shall be more at our ease,” said a tall thin old man, about seventy-five years of age, dressed in blue cloth, and wearing his hunting-cap by permission of the ladies.  This personage, who closely resembled the Duc de Bourbon, was no less than the Prince de Cadignan, Master of the Hunt, and one of the last of the great French lords.  Just as La Briere was endeavoring to slip behind the sofa and obtain a moment’s intercourse with Modeste, a man of thirty-eight, short, fat, and very common in appearance, entered the room.