s thus you habitually break off. Is it a
rupture that you now desire?"

"The question is singular!" said Madame de Lucenay, with a sarcastic
laugh. "Learn, sir, that when a lackey robs me, I do not break with him,
I turn him away."

"Madame!"

"Oh, a truce to this!" said the duchess, in a stern and peremptory tone.
"Your presence disgusts me! Why are you here? Have you not had your
money?"

"It is true, then, as I guessed, the twenty-five thousand francs--"

"Your last forgery is withdrawn, is it not? The honour of your family's
name is saved,--that is well,--go!"

"Ah! believe me--"

"I very much regret that money, for it might have succoured so many
honest families; but it was necessary to think of the shame to your
father and to myself."

"So then, Clotilde, you know all? Ah, then, now nothing is left me but
to die!" exclaimed Florestan, in a most pathetic and despairing tone.

A burst of derisive laughter from the duchess hailed this tragic
exclamation, and she added, between two fits of fresh hilarity:

"I could never have believed infamy could appear so ridiculous!"

"Madame!" cried Florestan, his features contracted with rage.

The two folding-doors opened with a loud noise, and M. le Duc de
Montbrison was announced.

In spite of his self-command, Florestan could scarcely repress the
violence of his resentment, which any man more observing than the duke
must certainly have perceived.

M. de Montbrison was scarcely eighteen years of age. Let our readers
imagine a most engaging countenance, like that of a young girl, white
and red, whose vermilion lips and downy chin were slightly shaded by a
nascent beard. Let them add to this large brown eyes, as yet timid, but
which in time would gleam like a falcon's, a figure as graceful as that
of the duchess herself, and then, perhaps, they may have some idea of
this young duke, the Cherubino as complete in idea as ever countess or
waiting-maid decked in a woman's cap, after having remarked the ivory
whiteness of his neck.

The vicomte had the weakness or the audacity to remain.

"How kind of you, Conrad, to think of me this evening!" said Madame de
Lucenay, in a most affectionate voice, and extending her hand to the
young duke, who was about to shake hands with his cousin, but Clotilde
raised her hand a little, and said to him gaily:

"Kiss it, cousin,--you have your gloves on."

"Pardon me, my dear cousin," said the young man, as he applied his lips