orest.

In the meantime, Monsieur de Malouet had received me with still more
cordial affability than usual, and without making any direct allusion to
the accident which had brought me against my will to this cynegetic feast,
he omitted no attention that could make me forget its trifling annoyance.
Soon after the hounds started a deer, and I followed them with keen
relish, being by no means indifferent to that manly pastime, though it is
not sufficient for my happiness in this world.

The pack was thrown off the scent two or three times, and the deer had the
best of the day. At about four o'clock we started on our way back to the
chateau. When we crossed the valley on our return, the twilight was
already marking out more clearly upon the sky the outline of the trees and
the crest of the hills; a melancholy shade was falling upon the woods, and
a whitish fog chilled the grass on the meadows, while a thicker mist
indicated the sinuous course of the little river. As I remained absorbed
in the contemplation of the scene which reminded me of better days, I
discovered suddenly Madame de Palme at my side.

"I believe, after due reflection," she said with her usual brusqueness,
"that you scorn my ignorance and my lack of wit much more than my supposed
want of morality. You think less of virtue than you do of intelligence. Is
that it?"

"Certainly not," I said, laughingly; "that isn't it; that isn't it at all.
In the first place, the word scorn must be suppressed, having nothing to
do here; then, I don't much believe in your ignorance, and not at all in
your lack of wit. Finally, I see nothing above virtue, when I see it at
all, which is not often. Furthermore, madam, I feel confused at the
importance you attach to my opinion. The secret of my likes and dislikes
is quite simple; I have, as I was telling you, the most religious respect
for virtue, but all mine is limited to a deep-seated sentiment of a few
essential duties which I practice as best I can; I could not therefore ask
any more of others. As to the intellect, I confess that I value it
greatly, and life seems too serious a matter to me to be treated on the
footing of a perpetual ball, from the cradle to the grave. Moreover, the
productions of the mind, works of art in particular, are the object of my
most passionate preoccupations, and it is natural that I should like being
able to speak of what interests me. That's all."

"Is it absolutely necessary to be forever ta