“And you said?”

“What I had to say to him:  I congratulated him!”

Marianne raised her gray eyes to Lissac’s face.

“Congratulate?” she said slowly.

“The woman he marries is pretty enough, I think?”

“Ah! my dear, a truce to insolent trifles!—­what is it that has possessed you for some time past?”

“Nothing, but something has possessed you—­or some one.”

“Rosas?”

“No, Vaudrey!”

“I will restore him to you.  Oh! oh! you are surprisingly interested in Vaudrey.  Vaudrey or his wife?” she remarked.

She smiled with her wicked expression.

“Duchess,” said Lissac, “accustom yourself to respect virtuous women!”

“Is it to talk of such pleasant trifles that you have gained access to my box?”

“No, it is to ask you for some special information.”

“What?”

“Is it true, is it really true that you are about to wed Rosas?” he asked in an almost cordial tone.

“Why not?” she replied, as she raised her head.

“Because—­I am going to be frank—­I have always regarded you as an absolutely straightforward woman, a woman of honor—­You once claimed so to be.  Mad, fantastic, you often are; charming, always; but dishonest, never.  To take Rosas’s love, even his fortune, would be natural enough, but to take his name would be a very questionable act and a skilful one, but lacking in frankness.”

“That is to say that I may devour him like a courtesan, but not marry him as a—­”

“As a young girl, no, you cannot do that.  And you put me—­I am bound to tell you so and I take advantage of the intermission to do so—­in a delicate position.  If I declared the truth to Rosas, I act toward you as a rascal.  If I keep silent to my friend, my true friend, I act almost like a knave.”

“Did Rosas ask you to speak to me?”

“No, but there is a voice within me that pricks me to speech and tells me that if I allow you to marry the duke, I am committing myself to a questionable affair—­Do you know what he asked me?—­To be his witness.”

If Marianne had been in a laughing mood, she would have laughed heartily.

“It is absurd,” she said.  “You did not consent?”

“Yes, indeed, I have consented.  Because I really hoped that you would relieve me from such an undesirable duty, a little too questionable.”

“You would like?—­What would you like?”

“I wish—­no, I would have you not marry Monsieur de Rosas.”

Marianne shrugged her shoulders.

She clearly felt the threat conveyed in Lissac’s words, but she desired to show from the first that she disdained them.  What right, after all, had this casual acquaintance to mix himself up in her life affairs?  Because, one day, she had been charitable enough to give him her youth and her body!  The duty of friendship!  The rights of friendship!  To protect Vaudrey!  To defend Rosas!  Words, tiresome words!