l be charming to her; I predict her that;
she may feel easy about it! Now, will you admit that it is the true cause
of your hesitation?"

"I assure you that it is not, mother," said Clotilde.

"I assure you that it is, my daughter. Well, come; would you like me to
speak to Julia, to try and reason with her? I would prefer giving her a
good whipping; however--!"

"Poor, dear mother," rejoined Clotilde, "must I then tell you everything?"

She came to kneel down in front of the baroness.

"By all means, daughter; tell me everything, but don't make me cry, I beg
of you! Is what you have to tell very sad?"

"Not very gay."

"Mon Dieu! But no matter; go on."

"In the first place, mother, I must confess that I would personally feel
no scruple in marrying again--"

"I should think not! That would be carrying it just a little too far!"

"As to Julia--whom I adore, who loves me sincerely, and who loves you very
much too, whatever you may say--"

"Satisfied of the contrary," said the baroness. "But no matter; proceed."

"As to Julia, I have more confidence than you have in her good sense and
in her good heart; notwithstanding the exalted affection she has preserved
for her father, I am sure that she would understand, that she would
respect my determination, and that she would not love me one whit the
less, especially if her step-father did not happen to be personally
objectionable to her; for you are aware of the extreme violence of her
sympathies and of her antipathies--"

"I am aware of it!" said the baroness, bitterly. "Well, you must give her
a list of your gentlemen friends, the dear little thing, and she will pick
out her own choice for you."

"There is no need of that, good mother," said Clotilde. "The choice has
already been made by the mainly interested party, and I am certain that it
would not be disagreeable to Julia."

"Well, then, my darling, everything is for the best."

"Alas! no. I am going to tell you something that covers me with confusion.
Among all the men we know, the only one who--the only one I like, in fact,
is also the only one who has never been in love with me."

"He must be a savage, then! he cannot but be a savage. But who is he?"

"I have told you, dear mother, the only one of our friends who is not in
love with me--"

"Bah! who is that? Your cousin Pierre?"

"No, but you are not--"

"Monsieur de Lucan!" exclaimed the baroness. "It could not fail to be so!
The very flower of