season, sir, and you will lose nothing by waiting. However,
there were all sorts of good reasons for preferring--the other one, who
had a larger fortune and was of more ancient nobility."

"Oh, as to that--in money, maybe, but as to birth--"

"It is indisputable! You are both dukes by patent."

"We in 1663."

"And the Courtalin--"

"In 1666 only."

"Agreed."

"Well, then?"

"Oh, just wait! I am posted on the question; mamma studied it thoroughly
when things looked, three months ago, as if I should be Duchess of
Courtalin. One morning mamma went to the archives with an old friend of
hers, a great historian, who is a member of the Institute. You date
from 1663, and the Courtalin from 1666; that is correct. But Louis
XIV., in 1672, by a special edict, gave the precedence to the
Courtalins; and you have not, I suppose, any idea of disputing what
Louis XIV. thought best to do. Now, Aunt Louise, can he?"

"Certainly not."

"But Saint Simon--"

"Oh, let us leave Saint Simon alone; he is prejudice and inaccuracy
itself! I know he is on your side, but that doesn't count; but I will,
to be agreeable to you, acknowledge that you are better looking and
taller than M. de Courtalin--"

"But--"

"Oh, my dear, I begin to see! You are dying for me to tell you that.
Well, yes, you are a fairly handsome man; but that is only a very
perishable advantage, and you have too much respect for
conventionalities to wish to make that equal to the decree of Louis XIV.
However, I loved you--I loved you faithfully, tenderly, fondly,
stupidly; yes, stupidly, for when I had come out in society, the year
before, in April, 1889, at Mme. de Fresnes's ball, when I had allowed my
poor, little, thin shoulders to be seen for the first time (I must have
been about seventeen), I noticed that the young marriageable men in our
set (they are all quoted, noted, and labelled) drew away from me with
strange, respectful deference. I appeared to be of no importance or
interest, in spite of my name, my dowry, and my eyes. You see, I had
singed myself. I had so ridiculously advertised my passion for you that
I no longer belonged to myself; I was considered as belonging to you. As
soon as I had put on my first long dress, which gave me at once the
right to think of marriage and speak of love, I had told all my friends
that I loved, and would never love or marry any one but you--you or the
convent. Yes, I had come to that! My friends had told their broth