‘Has she, do you think, increased in beauty?’ Madame d’Auffray inquired:  an insidious question, to which he replied: 

‘Once I thought it would be impossible.’

Not so bad an answer for an Englishman, in a country where speaking is fencing; the race being little famous for dialectical alertness:  but was it artful or simple?

They skirted the chateau, and Beauchamp had the history of Dame Philiberte recounted to him, with a mixture of Gallic irony, innuendo, openness, touchingness, ridicule, and charity novel to his ears.  Madame d’Auffray struck the note of intimacy earlier than is habitual.  She sounded him in this way once or twice, carelessly perusing him, and waiting for the interesting edition of the Book of Man to summarize its character by showing its pages or remaining shut.  It was done delicately, like the tap of a finger-nail on a vase.  He rang clear; he had nothing to conceal; and where he was reserved, that is, in speaking of the developed beauty and grace of Renee, he was transparent.  She read the sort of man he was; she could also hazard a guess as to the man’s present state.  She ventured to think him comparatively harmless—­for the hour:  for she was not the woman to be hoodwinked by man’s dark nature because she inclined to think well of a particular man; nor was she one to trust to any man subject to temptation.  The wisdom of the Frenchwoman’s fortieth year forbade it.  A land where the war between the sexes is honestly acknowledged, and is full of instruction, abounds in precepts; but it ill becomes the veteran to practise rigorously what she would prescribe to young women.  She may discriminate; as thus:—­Trust no man.  Still, this man may be better than that man; and it is bad policy to distrust a reasonably guileless member of the preying sex entirely, and so to lose his good services.  Hawks have their uses in destroying vermin; and though we cannot rely upon the taming of hawks, one tied by the leg in a garden preserves the fruit.

‘There is a necessity for your leaving us to-morrow; M. Beauchamp?’

‘I regret to say, it is imperative, madame.’

’My husband will congratulate me on the pleasure I have, and have long desired, of making your acquaintance, and he will grieve that he has not been so fortunate; he is on service in Africa.  My brother, I need not say, will deplore the mischance which has prevented him from welcoming you.  I have telegraphed to him; he is at one of the Baths in Germany, and will come assuredly, if there is a prospect of finding you here.  None?  Supposing my telegram not to fall short of him, I may count on his being here within four days.’

Beauchamp begged her to convey the proper expressions of his regret to M. le Marquis.

’And M. de Croisnel?  And Roland, your old comrade and brother-in-arms?  What will be their disappointment!’ she said.

‘I intend to stop for an hour at Rouen on my way back,’ said Beauchamp.