“How can the subject of our interview interest these gentlemen, aunt?” asked Mdlle. de Cardoville, with surprise.

“These gentlemen are old family friends; all that concerns you must interest them, and their advice ought to be heard and accepted by you with respect.”

“I have no doubt, aunt, of the bosom friendship of M. d’Aigrigny for our family:  I have still less of the profound and disinterested devotion of M. Tripeaud; M. Baleinier is one of my old friends; still, before accepting these gentlemen as spectators, or, if you will, as confidants of our interview, I wish to know what we are going to talk of before them.”

“I thought that, among your many singular pretensions, you had at least those of frankness and courage.”

“Really, aunt,” said Adrienne, smiling with mock humility, “I have no more pretensions to frankness and courage than you have to sincerity and goodness.  Let us admit, once for all, that we are what we are—­without pretension.”

“Be it so,” said Madame de Saint-Dizier, in a dry tone; “I have long been accustomed to the freaks of your independent spirit.  I suppose, then, that, courageous and frank as you say you are, you will not be afraid to speak before such grave and respectable persons as these gentlemen what you would speak to me alone?”

“Is it a formal examination that I am to submit to? if so, upon what subject?”

“It is not an examination:  but, as I have a right to watch over you, and as you take advantage of my weak compliance with your caprices, I mean to put an end to what has lasted too long, and tell you my irrevocable resolutions for the future, in presence of friends of the family.  And, first, you have hitherto had a very false and imperfect notion of my power over you.”

“I assure you, aunt, that I have never had any notion, true or false, on the subject—­for I have never even dreamt about it.”

“That is my own fault; for, instead of yielding to your fancies, I should have made you sooner feel my authority; but the moment has come to submit yourself; the severe censures of my friends have enlightened me in time.  Your character is self-willed, independent, stubborn; it must change—­either by fair means or by force, understand me, it shall change.”

At these words, pronounced harshly before strangers, with a severity which did not seem at all justified by circumstances, Adrienne tossed her head proudly; but, restraining herself, she answered with a smile:  “You say, aunt, that I shall change.  I should not be astonished at it.  We hear of such odd conversions.”

The princess bit her lips.

“A sincere conversion can never be called odd, as you term it, madame,” said Abbe d’Aigrigny, coldly.  “It is, on the contrary, meritorious, and forms an excellent example.”

“Excellent?” answered Adrienne:  “that depends!  For instance, what if one converts defects into vices?”