The Baronne assented rather reluctantly.

“Wermant was speaking to me the other day,” went on M. de Nailles.  “It seems that that young Count de Cymier, who is always hanging around you, by the way, has been making inquiries of him, in a manner that looks as if it had some meaning, as to what is our fortune, our position.  But really, such a match seems too good to be true.”

“Why so?” said the Baronne.  “I know more about it than you do, from Blanche de Villegry.  She gave me to understand that her cousin was much struck by Jacqueline at first sight, and ever since she does nothing but talk to me of M. de Cymier—­of his birth, his fortune, his abilities—­the charming young fellow seems gifted with everything.  He could be Secretary of Legation, if he liked to quit Paris:  In the meantime attache to an Embassy looks very well on a card.  Attache to the Ministry of the Foreign Affairs does not seem so good.  Jacqueline would be a countess, possibly an ambassadress.  What would you think of that!”

Madame de Nailles, who understood policy much better than her husband, had suddenly become a convert to opportunism, and had made a change of base.  Not being able to devise a plan by which to suppress her young rival, she had begun to think that her best way to get rid of her would be by promoting her marriage.  The little girl was fast developing into a woman—­a woman who would certainly not consent quietly to be set aside.  Well, then, it would be best to dispose of her in so natural a way.  When Jacqueline’s slender and graceful figure and the freshness of her bloom were no longer brought into close comparison with her own charms, she felt she should appear much younger, and should recover some of her prestige; people would be less likely to remark her increasing stoutness, or the red spots on her face, increased by the salt air which was so favorable to young girls’ complexions.  Yes, Jacqueline must be married; that was the resolution to which Madame de Nailles had come after several nights of sleeplessness.  It was her fixed idea, replacing in her brain that other fixed idea which, willingly or unwillingly, she saw she must give up—­the idea of keeping her stepdaughter in the shade.

“Countess!  Ambassadress!” repeated M. de Nailles, with rather a melancholy smile.  “You are going too fast, my dear Clotilde.  I don’t doubt that Wermant gave the best possible account of our situation; but when it comes to saying what I could give her as a dot, I am very much afraid.  We should have, in that case, to fall back on Fred, for I have not told you everything.  This morning Madame d’Argy, who has done nothing but weep since her boy went away, and who, she says, never will get accustomed to the life of misery and anxiety she will lead as a sailor’s mother, exclaimed, as she was talking to me:  ’Ah! there is but one way of keeping him at Lizerolles, of having him live there as the D’Argys have lived before him, quietly, like a good landlord, and that would be to give him your daughter; with her he would be entirely satisfied.’”