ix with a
flashing eye. He was so superb that a Northern or a Southern woman would
have fallen at his feet saying, "Take me!" But Beatrix, born on the
borders of Normandy and Brittany, belonged to the race of Casterans;
desertion had developed in her the ferocity of the Frank, the
spitefulness of the Norman; she wanted some terrible notoriety as a
vengeance, and she yielded to no weakness.

"Dictate what I ought to write," said the luckless man. "But, in that
case--"

"Well, yes!" she said, "you shall love me then as you loved me at
Guerande. Write: _I dine out; do not expect me._"

"What next?" said Calyste, thinking something more would follow.

"Nothing; sign it. Good," she said, darting on the note with restrained
joy. "I will send it by a messenger."

"And now," cried Calyste, rising like a happy man.

"Ah! I have kept, I believe, my freedom of action," she said, turning
away from him and going to the fireplace, where she rang the bell.
"Here, Antoine," she said, when the old footman entered, "send this note
to its address. Monsieur dines here."

XIX. THE FIRST LIE OF A PIOUS DUCHESS

Calyste returned to his own house about two in the morning. After
waiting for him till half-past twelve, Sabine had gone to bed
overwhelmed with fatigue. She slept, although she was keenly distressed
by the laconic wording of her husband's note. Still, she explained it.
The true love of a woman invariably begins by explaining all things
to the advantage of the man beloved. Calyste was pressed for time, she
said.

The next morning the child was better; the mother's uneasiness subsided,
and Sabine came with a smiling face, and little Calyste on her arm, to
present him to his father before breakfast with the pretty fooleries and
senseless words which gay young mothers do and say. This little scene
gave Calyste the chance to maintain a countenance. He was charming to
his wife, thinking in his heart that he was a monster, and he played
like a child with Monsieur le chevalier; in fact he played too well,--he
overdid the part; but Sabine had not reached the stage at which a woman
recognizes so delicate a distinction.

At breakfast, however, she asked him suddenly:--

"What did you do yesterday?"

"Portenduere kept me to dinner," he replied, "and after that we went to
the club to play whist."

"That's a foolish life, my Calyste," said Sabine. "Young noblemen in
these days ought to busy themselves about recovering in the