is indeed so, Chevalier?" she inquired. "Do you note the
resemblance?"

"Vanitas, vanitate," murmured the youth, who had some scraps of Latin
and a taste for airing them. "I can see no likeness--no trace of one.
Monsieur de Lesperon is well enough, I should say. But Bardelys!" He
cast his eyes to the ceiling. "There is but one Bardelys in France."

"Enfin," I laughed, "you are no doubt well qualified to judge,
Chevalier. I had flattered myself that some likeness did exist, but
probably you have seen the Marquis more frequently than have I, and
probably you know him better. Nevertheless, should he come his way,
I will ask you to look at us side by side and be the judge of the
resemblance."

"Should I happen to be here," he said, with a sudden constraint not
difficult to understand, "I shall be happy to act as arbiter."

"Should you happen to be here?" I echoed questioningly. "But surely,
should you hear that Monsieur de Bardelys is about to arrive, you will
postpone any departure you may be on the point of making, so that you
may renew this great friendship that you tell us you do the Marquis the
honour of entertaining for him?"

The Chevalier eyed me with the air of a man looking down from a great
height upon another. The Vicomte smiled quietly to himself as he combed
his fair beard with his forefinger in a meditative fashion, whilst even
Roxalanne--who had sat silently listening to a conversation that she
was at times mercifully spared from following too minutely--flashed me a
humorous glance. To the Vicomtesse alone who in common with women of
her type was of a singular obtuseness--was the situation without
significance.

Saint-Eustache, to defend himself against my delicate imputation, and
to show how well acquainted he was with Bardelys, plunged at once into
a thousand details of that gentleman's magnificence. He described his
suppers, his retinue, his equipages, his houses, his chateaux, his
favour with the King, his successes with the fair sex, and I know not
what besides--in all of which I confess that even to me there was a
certain degree of novelty. Roxalanne listened with an air of amusement
that showed how well she read him. Later, when I found myself alone
with her by the river, whither we had gone after the repast and
the Chevalier's reminiscences were at an end, she reverted to that
conversation.

"Is not my cousin a great fanfarron, monsieur," she asked.

"Surely you know your cousin better than