"Advertise that, if he will come to some place appointed, he will hear of something to his advantage."
The count shook his head. "He would suspect me, and not come."
"But he was intimate with you. He joined an insurrection; you were more prudent. You did not injure him, though you may have benefited yourself. Why should he shun you?"
"The conspirators forgive none who do not conspire; besides, to speak frankly, he thought I injured him."
"Could you not conciliate him through his wife—whom you resigned to him?"
"She is dead,—died before he left the country."
"Oh, that is unlucky! Still I think an advertisement might do good.
Allow me to reflect on that subject. Shall we now join Madame la
Marquise?"
On re-entering the drawing-room, the gentlemen found Beatrice in full dress, seated by the fire, and reading so intently that she did not remark them enter.
"What so interests you, /ma seuur/?—the last novel by Balzac, no doubt?"
Beatrice started, and, looking up, showed eyes that were full of tears. "Oh, no! no picture of miserable, vicious, Parisian life. This is beautiful; there is soul here."