s; for the first time in her life
she read a love-letter.

Calyste was standing in deep perplexity; how could he send that letter?
He followed his mother back into the salon with the letter in his pocket
and burning in his heart like fire. The Chevalier du Halga was still
there, and the last deal of a lively _mouche_ was going on. Charlotte de
Kergarouet, in despair at Calyste's indifference, was paying attention
to his father as a means of promoting her marriage. Calyste wandered
hither and thither like a butterfly which had flown into the room by
mistake. At last, when _mouche_ was over, he drew the Chevalier du Halga
into the great salon, from which he sent away Mademoiselle de Pen-Hoel's
page and Mariotte.

"What does he want of the chevalier?" said old Zephirine, addressing her
friend Jacqueline.

"Calyste strikes me as half-crazy," replied Mademoiselle de Pen-Hoel.
"He pays Charlotte no more attention than if she were a _paludiere_."

Remembering that the Chevalier du Halga had the reputation of having
navigated in his youth the waters of gallantry, it came into Calyste's
head to consult him.

"What is the best way to send a letter secretly to one's mistress," he
said to the old gentleman in a whisper.

"Well, you can slip it into the hand of her maid with a louis or two
underneath it; for sooner or later the maid will find out the secret,
and it is just as well to let her into it at once," replied the
chevalier, on whose face was the gleam of a smile. "But, on the whole,
it is best to give the letter yourself."

"A louis or two!" exclaimed Calyste.

He snatched up his hat and ran to Les Touches, where he appeared like an
apparition in the little salon, guided thither by the voices of Camille
and Beatrix. They were sitting on the sofa together, apparently on the
best of terms. Calyste, with the headlong impulse of love, flung himself
heedlessly on the sofa beside the marquise, took her hand, and slipped
the letter within it. He did this so rapidly that Felicite, watchful
as she was, did not perceive it. Calyste's heart was tingling with an
emotion half sweet, half painful, as he felt the hand of Beatrix press
his own, and saw her, without interrupting her words, or seeming in the
least disconcerted, slip the letter into her glove.

"You fling yourself on a woman's dress without mercy," she said,
laughing.

"Calyste is a boy who is wanting in common-sense," said Felicite, not
sparing him an open rebuke