The latter, not perceiving this mute interrogation, resumed as follows:  “I will express myself more clearly, prince.  You can understand that, being the nearest relative of this dear, obstinate girl, I am more or less responsible for her conduct in the eyes of the world; and you, prince, seem just to have arrived on purpose, from the end of the earth, to take charge of a destiny which had caused me considerable apprehension.  It is charming, it is excellent; and I know not which most to admire, your courage or your good fortune.”  The princess threw a glance of diabolical malice at Adrienne, and awaited her answer with an air of defiance.

“Listen to our good aunt, my dear cousin,” said the young lady, smiling calmly.  “Since our affectionate kinswoman sees you and me united and happy, her heart is swelling with such a flood of joy, that it must run over, and the effects will be delightful.  Only have a little patience, and you will behold them in their full beauty.  I do not know,” added Adrienne, in the most natural tone, “why, in thinking of these outpourings of our dear aunt’s affection, I should remember what you told me, cousin, of a certain viper in your country which sometimes, in a powerless bite, breaks its fangs, and, absorbing its own venom, becomes the victim of the poison it distills.  Come, my dear aunt, you that had so good and noble a heart, I am sure you must feel interested in the fate of those poor vipers.”

The princess darted an implacable look at her niece, and replied, in an agitated voice, “I do not see the object of this selection of natural history.  Do you, prince?”

Djalma made no answer; leaning with his arm on the mantelpiece, he threw dark and piercing glances upon the princess.  His involuntary hatred of this woman filled his heart.

“Ah, my dear aunt!” resumed Adrienne, in a tone of self-reproach; “have I presumed too much on the goodness of your heart?  Have you not even sympathy for vipers?  For whom, then, have you any?  After all, I can very well understand it,” added Adrienne, as if to herself; “vipers are so thin.  But, to lay aside these follies,” she continued, gayly, as she saw the ill-repressed rage of the pious woman, “tell us at once, my dear aunt, all the tender things which the sight of our happiness inspires.”

“I hope to do so, my amiable niece.  First, I must congratulate this dear prince, on having come so far to take charge, in all confidence, and with his eyes shut, of you, my poor child, whom we were obliged to confine as mad, in order to give a decent color to your excesses.  You remember the handsome lad, that we found in your apartment.  You cannot be so faithless, as already to have forgotten his name?  He was a fine, youth, and a poet—­one Agricola Baudoin—­and was discovered in a secret place, attached to your bed-chamber.  All Paris was amused with the scandal—­for you are not about to marry an unknown person, dear prince; her name has been in every mouth.”