“Is it not, Madame?”

Camors’s voice expressed such confidence and submission that Madame de Tecle was quite touched, and even the devil himself would have been charmed by it, had he heard it in Gehenna.

“Let me reflect on this a little,” she said, and she placed her elbows on the table, leaned her head on her hands, her fingers, like a fan, half shading her eyes, while sparks of fire from her rings glittered in the sunshine, and her ivory nails shone against her smooth brow.  M. de Camors continued to regard her with the same submissive and candid air.

“Well, Monsieur,” she said at last, smiling, “I think you can do nothing better than keep on.”

“Pardon me, but how?”

“By persevering in the same system you have already adopted with my uncle!  Say nothing to him for the present.  Beg the General also to be silent.  Wait quietly until intimacy, time, and your own good qualities have sufficiently prepared my uncle for your nomination.  My role is very simple.  I cannot, at this moment, aid you, without betraying you.  My assistance would only injure you, until a change comes in the aspect of affairs.  You must conciliate him.”

“You overpower me,” said Camors, “in taking you for my confidante in my ambitious projects, I have committed a blunder and an impertinence, which a slight contempt from you has mildly punished.  But speaking seriously, Madame, I thank you with all my heart.  I feared to find in you a powerful enemy, and I find in you a strong neutral, almost an ally.”

“Oh! altogether an ally, however secret,” responded Madame de Tecle, laughing.  “I am glad to be useful to you; as I love General Campvallon very much, I am happy to enter into his views.  Come here, Marie?” These last words were addressed to her daughter, who appeared on the steps of the terrace, her cheeks scarlet, and her hair dishevelled, holding a card in her hand.  She immediately approached her mother, giving M. de Camors one of those awkward salutations peculiar to young, growing girls.

“Will you permit me,” said Madame de Tecle, “to give to my daughter a few orders in English, which we are translating?  You are too warm—­do not run any more.  Tell Rosa to prepare my bodice with the small buttons.  While I am dressing, you may say your catechism to me.”

“Yes, mother.”

“Have you written your exercise?”

“Yes, mother.  How do you say ‘joli’ in English for a man?” asked the little girl.

“Why?”

“That question is in my exercise, to be said of a man who is ’beau, joli, distingue.’”

“Handsome, nice, and charming,” replied her mother.

“Very well, mother, this gentleman, our neighbor, is altogether handsome, nice, and charming.”

“Silly child!” exclaimed Madame de Tecle, while the little girl rushed down the steps.

M. de Camors, who had listened to this dialogue with cool calmness, rose.  “I thank you again, Madame,” he said; “and will you now excuse me?  You will allow me, from time to time, to confide in you my political hopes and fears?”