“What an idea, aunt!  Did I have any adorers?” exclaimed Madame de Bergenheim, quickly, as if trying to conceal by a smile the rosy flush that mounted to her cheeks.

“And what if you should have some, child?” continued the old maid, to whom curiosity lent an unaccustomed coaxing accent to her voice, “where would be the harm?  Is it forbidden to please?  When one is of good birth, must one not live in society and hold one’s position there?  One need not bury one’s self in a desert at twenty-three years of age, and you really are charming enough to inspire love; you understand, I do not say, to experience it; but when one is young and pretty conquests are made almost unwittingly.  You are not the first of the family to whom that has happened; you are a Corandeuil.  Now, then, my good Clemence, what troubled heart is pining for you in Paris?  Is it Monsieur de Mauleon?”

“Monsieur de Mauleon!” exclaimed the young woman, bursting into laughter; “he, a heart! and a troubled one, too!  Oh, aunt, you do him honor!  Monsieur de Mauleon, who is past forty-five years old and wears stays! an audacious man who squeezes his partners’ hands in the dance and looks at them with passionate glances!  Oh!  Monsieur de Mauleon!”

Mademoiselle de Corandeuil sanctioned by a slight grimace of her thin lips her niece’s burst of gayety, when, with one hand upon her heart, she rolled her sparkling eyes in imitation of the languishing air of her unfortunate adorer.

“Perhaps it is Monsieur d’Arzenac?”

“Monsieur d’Arzenac is certainly very nice; he has perfect manners; it may be that he did not disdain to chat with me; on my side, I found his conversation very entertaining; but you may rest assured that he did not think of me nor I of him.  Besides, you know that he is engaged to marry Mademoiselle de la Neuville.”

“Monsieur de Gerfaut?” continued Mademoiselle de Corandeuil, with the persistency with which aged people follow an idea, and as if determined to pass in review all the young men of their acquaintance until she had discovered her niece’s secret.

The latter was silent a moment before replying.

“How can you think of such a thing, aunt?” said she at last, “a man with such a bad reputation, who writes books that one hardly dares read, and plays that it’s almost a sin to witness!  Did you not hear Madame de Pontivers say that a young woman who cared for her reputation would permit his visits very rarely?”

“Madame de Pontivers is a prude, whom I can not endure, with her show of little, grimaces and her pretentious, outrageous mock-modesty.  Did she not take it into her head this winter to constitute me her chaperon?  I gave her to understand that a widow forty years old was quite old enough to go about alone!  She has a mania for fearing that she may be compromised.  The idea of turning up her nose at Monsieur de Gerfaut!  What presumption!  He certainly is too clever ever to solicit the honor of being bored to death in her house; for he is clever, very clever.  I never could understand your dislike for him, nor your haughty manner of treating him; especially, during the latter part of our stay in Paris.”