to the naked and charming hand that was offered to him.

"What are you going to do this evening, Conrad?" inquired Madame de
Lucenay, without seeming to take the slightest notice in the world of
Florestan.

"Nothing, cousin; when I leave you, I shall go to the club."

"Indeed you shall not; you shall accompany us, M. de Lucenay and me, to
Madame de Senneval's; she gives a party, and has frequently asked me to
introduce you to her."

"I shall be but too happy."

"Then, too, I must tell you frankly that I don't like to see you begin
so early with your habits and tastes for clubs. You are possessed of
everything necessary in order to be everywhere welcomed, and even sought
after, in the world, and you ought, therefore, to mix with it as much as
possible."

"Yes, you are right, cousin."

"And as I am on the footing of a grandmother with you, my dear Conrad, I
am determined to exact a great deal from you. You are emancipated, it is
true, but I believe you will want a guardian for a long time to come,
and you must, therefore, consider me in that light."

"Most joyfully, happily, cousin!" said the young duke, emphatically.

It is impossible to describe the mute rage of Florestan, who was
standing up, and leaning with his elbow on the mantelpiece. Neither the
duke nor Clotilde paid the slightest attention to him. Knowing the
rapidity with which Madame de Lucenay decided, he imagined she was
pushing her boldness and contempt so far as to commence at once, and in
his presence, a regular flirtation with the Duc de Montbrison.

It was not so. The duchess felt for her cousin nothing beyond a truly
maternal affection, having almost seen him born. But the young duke was
so handsome, and seemed so happy at the agreeable reception of his
cousin, that the jealousy, or, rather, pride of Florestan was aroused.
His heart writhed beneath the cruel wounds of envy, excited by Conrad de
Montbrison, who, rich and handsome, was beginning so splendidly that
life of pleasures, enjoyments, and fetes, from which he, ruined, undone,
despised, dishonoured, was expelled.

M. de Saint-Remy was brave with that bravery of the head, if we may so
call it, which will urge a man, by anger or by vanity, to face a duel.
But, vitiated and corrupted, he had not the courage of the heart which
triumphs over bad inclinations, or which, at least, gives the energy
which enables a man to escape infamy by a voluntary death. Furious at
the bitter contempt of