“Most probably his early education was defective; for on all occasions, when speaking with us, he says, ‘Yes, Monsieur le Comte!’ or ‘Certainly, Madame la Comtesse!’ as if he were a servant. Yet withal, he has a peculiar pride, or perhaps I should say insufferable vanity. But his great fault, in my eyes, is the scoffing tone he adopts, when the subject is religion or morals.
“Two days ago, while we were
dining, Vautrot allowed himself to
indulge in a rather violent tirade
of this description. It was
certainly contrary to all good taste.
“‘My dear Vautrot,’ my husband said quietly to him, ’to me these pleasantries of yours are indifferent; but pray remember, that while you are a strong-minded man, my wife is a weak-minded woman; and strength, you know, should respect weakness.’
“Monsieur Vautrot first grew white, then red, and finally green. He rose, bowed awkwardly, and immediately afterward left the table. Since that time I have remarked his manner has been more reserved. The moment I was alone with Louis, I said:
“’You may think me indiscreet,
but pray let me ask you a question.
How can you confide all your affairs
and all your secrets to a man
who professes to have no principles?’
“Monsieur de Camors laughed.
“‘Oh, he talks thus
out of bravado,’ he answered. ’He
thinks to
make himself more interesting in
your eyes by these Mephistophelian
airs. At bottom he is a good
fellow.’
“‘But,’ I answered, ‘he has faith in nothing.’
“’Not in much, I believe.
Yet he has never deceived me. He is an
honorable man.’
“I opened my eyes wide at this.
“‘Well,’ he said,
with an amused look, ’what is the matter, Miss
Mary?’
“‘What is this honor you speak of?’
“‘Let me ask your definition of it, Miss Mary,’ he replied.
“‘Mon Dieu!’ I cried, blushing deeply, ’I know but little of it, but it seems to me that honor separated from morality is no great thing; and morality without religion is nothing. They all constitute a chain. Honor hangs to the last link, like a flower; but if the chain be broken, honor falls with the rest.’ He looked at me with strange eyes, as if he were not only confounded but disquieted by my philosophy. Then he gave a deep sigh, and rising said:
“‘Very neat, that definition-very neat.’
“That night, at the opera, he plied me with bonbons and orange ices. Madame de Campvallon accompanied us; and at parting, I begged her to call for me next day on her way to the Bois, for she is my idol. She is so lovely and so distinguished—and she I knows it well. I love to be with her. On our return home, Louis remained silent, contrary to his custom. Suddenly he said, brusquely:
“‘Marie, do you go with the Marquise to the Bois to-morrow?’