I asked, as soon as I could, for M. d’Aubepine, and heard that he was attending the Prince, who would, of course, first have to dress, and then to present himself to the Queen-Regent, and kiss her hand, after which he would go to Madame de Longueville’s reception of the King.  It was almost a relief to hear that the Count was thus employed, and I sent my son to tell his aunt that she might be no longer in suspense.

I asked Solivet whether we might expect the young man on leaving the Louvre, and he only shrugged his shoulders and said:  ‘What know I?’ It became plain to me that he would not discuss the matter before his daughters, now fourteen and fifteen, and we all had to sit down to an early supper, after which they were to be taken back to their convent.  M. d’Aubepine appeared, and was quite cheerful, for she figured to herself once more that her husband was only detained by his duties and his value to his Prince, and was burning every moment to see his little ones.  She asked questions about him, and became radiant when she heard of his courage at Lens, and the compliments that M. le Prince had paid to him.

After supper the little pensionnaires were to be taken back, and as some lady must escort them, I undertook the charge, finding with great delight that their father would accompany them likewise.  I effaced myself as much as I could on the way, and let the father and daughters talk to one another; and they chattered freely about their tasks, and works, and playfellows, seeming very happy with him.

But on the way home was my opportunity, and I asked what my half-brother really thought of M. d’Aubepine.

‘He is a fine young man,’ he said.

’You have told me that before; but what hopes are there for his wife?’

‘Poor little thing,’ returned Solivet.

‘Can he help loving her?’ I said

’Alas! my sister, he has been in a bad school, and has before him an example—­of courage, it is true, but not precisely of conjugal affection.’

‘Is it true, then,’ I asked, ’that the Princess of Conde is kept utterly in the background in spite of her mother-in-law, and that the Prince publishes his dislike to her?’

‘Perfectly true,’ said my brother.  ’When a hero, adored by his officers, actually declares that the only thing he does not wish to see in France is his wife, what can you expect of them?  Even some who really love their wives bade them remain at home, and will steal away to see them with a certain shame; and for Aubepine, he is only too proud to resemble the Prince in being married against his will to a little half-deformed child, who is to be avoided.’

I cried out at this, and demanded whether my little sister-in-law could possibly be thus described.  He owned that she was incredibly improved, and begged my pardon and hers, saying that he was only repeating what Aubepine either believed or pretended to believe her to be.