sk you, nevertheless, without preface,
point-blank?"

"To it and to any others that you put me, my dear duke, I will answer as
an honest man and a friend should."

"Have you been much in love with Mademoiselle Kayser?"

"Very much."

"And has she loved you--a little?"

"Not at all."

"That is not what she has just told me."

"Ah!" said Lissac, as he threw away his cigar. "You spoke of me, then?"

"She told me that she believed she loved you sincerely."

"That is just what I had the pleasure of telling you."

"And--Marianne?--"

"Marianne?" repeated Lissac, who perfectly understood the question from
De Rosas's hesitation.

"My dear friend, when a man feels sufficiently anxious, or sufficiently
weak, or sufficiently smitten, whichever you please, to stake his life
on the throw of the dice, he is permitted to put one of those misplaced
questions to which I have just referred. Well! you can tell me what,
perhaps, none other than I would dare to ask you: Have you been
Marianne's lover?"

Before replying, Guy took the arm of the duke in a friendly way, and,
leaning upon it, felt that it trembled nervously. Then, touching his
hand by chance, he observed that Rosas was in a burning fever.

"My dear fellow, it is the everlasting question of honor between men and
of duty to a woman that you put before me. Had I been Marianne's lover,
I should be bound to tell you that Marianne had never been my mistress.
These falsehoods are necessary. No; I have not been Marianne's lover,
but I advise you, if you do not wish to be perfectly miserable, not to
seek to become so. You are one of those men who throw their hearts open
as wide as a gateway. She is a calculating creature, who pursues, madly
enough I admit, without consistency or constancy in her ideas, any plan
that she may have in view. She might be flattered to have you as a
suitor, as I was, or as a lover, as I have been assured others were. I
do not affirm this, remember; but she will never be moved by your
affection. She is a pure Parisian, and is incapable of loving you as
you deserve, but you could not deceive her, as they say she has been."

"Deceived?" asked Rosas, in a tone of pity that struck Lissac.

"Deceived! yes! deceit is the complementary school of love."

"Then--if I loved Marianne?" asked Rosas.

"I would advise you to tell it to her at first, and prove it afterward,
and finally to catalogue it in that album whose ashes are sprinkled at
the bott