tance to yourself, monsieur, or to me?"

"To us both, I hope," he answered her, a world of meaning in his fine,
ardent eyes.

"You whet my curiosity, monsieur; and, of course, I am a dutiful niece.
It follows that I shall be honoured to receive you."

"Not honoured, mademoiselle; you will confer the honour. To-morrow at
this hour, then, I shall have the felicity to wait upon you."

He bowed again; and again he bore her fingers to his lips, what time she
curtsied. Thereupon, with no more than this formal breaking of the ice,
they parted.

She was a little breathless now, a little dazzled by the beauty of the
man, his princely air, and the confidence of power he seemed to radiate.
Involuntarily almost, she contrasted him with his critic--the lean and
impudent Andre-Louis in his plain brown coat and steel-buckled shoes--and
she felt guilty of an unpardonable offence in having permitted even one
word of that presumptuous criticism. To-morrow M. le Marquis would
come to offer her a great position, a great rank. And already she had
derogated from the increase of dignity accruing to her from his very
intention to translate her to so great an eminence. Not again would
she suffer it; not again would she be so weak and childish as to permit
Andre-Louis to utter his ribald comments upon a man by comparison with
whom he was no better than a lackey.

Thus argued vanity and ambition with her better self and to her vast
annoyance her better self would not admit entire conviction.

Meanwhile, M. de La Tour d'Azyr was climbing into his carriage. He had
spoken a word of farewell to M. de Kercadiou, and he had also had a
word for M. de Vilmorin in reply to which M. de Vilmorin had bowed in
assenting silence. The carriage rolled away, the powdered footman in
blue-and-gold very stiff behind it, M. de La Tour d'Azyr bowing to
mademoiselle, who waved to him in answer.

Then M. de Vilmorin put his arm through that of Andre Louis, and said to
him, "Come, Andre."

"But you'll stay to dine, both of you!" cried the hospitable Lord of
Gavrillac. "We'll drink a certain toast," he added, winking an eye that
strayed towards mademoiselle, who was approaching. He had no subtleties,
good soul that he was.

M. de Vilmorin deplored an appointment that prevented him doing himself
the honour. He was very stiff and formal.

"And you, Andre?"

"I? Oh, I share the appointment, godfather," he lied, "and I have a
superstition against toasts." He ha