again? Then, to be jealous of such a creature as that
ridiculous Delaroche--a man who knows nothing--who can think and talk
only of his own absurd self!--a man who has not even wit enough to see
that every one laughs at him!"

I was delighted. I longed to embrace her on the spot! Was there ever
such a charming, sensible, lively creature?

"Besides, the coxcomb is just now devoting himself, body and soul (such
as they are!) to that insufferable little _intriguante_, Madame de
Marignan. He is to be seen with her in every drawing-room and theatre
throughout Paris. For my part, I am amazed that a woman of the world
should suffer herself to be compromised to that extent--especially one
so experienced in these _affaires du coeur_."

Madame de Marignan! Compromised--experienced--_intriguante_! I felt as
if I were choking.

"To be sure, there is that poor English lad whom she drags about with
her, to play propriety," continued she; "but do you suppose the world is
blinded by so shallow an artifice?"

"What English lad?" I asked, startled out of all sense of precaution,
and desperately resolved to know the worst.

"What English lad? Why, Hippolyte, you are more stupid than ever! I
pointed him out to you the other night at the Comedie Francaise--a pale,
handsome boy, of about nineteen or twenty, with brown curling hair, and
very fine eyes, which were riveted on Madame de Marignan the whole
evening. Poor fellow! I cannot help pitying him."

"Then--then, you think she really does not love him?" I said. And this
time my voice was hoarse enough, without any need of feigning.

"Love him! Ridiculous! What does such a woman understand by love?
Certainly neither the sentiment nor the poetry of it! Tush, Hippolyte! I
do not wish to be censorious; but every one knows that ever since M. de
Marignan has been away in Algiers, that woman has had, not one devoted
admirer, but a dozen; and now that her husband is coming back...."

"Coming back! ... her husband!" I echoed, half rising in my place, and
falling back again, as if stunned. "Good heavens! is she not a widow?"

It was now the lady's turn to be startled.

"A widow!" she repeated. "Why, you know as well as I that--_Dieu_! To
whom I am speaking?"

"Madame," I said, as steadily as my agitation would let me, "I beg you
not to be alarmed. I am not, it is true, the person whom you have
supposed; but--Nay, I implore you...."

She here uttered a quick cry, and darted forward for