“Then I will remain the aumônier, or the gardener, according as you please, Madame,” said M. Chassin briskly. “What shall I do with this cup—besides thanking you a thousand times for its contents?”
The Duchesse took it from him. “If you care for another to-morrow at the same hour, Monsieur l’Aumônier, it will be at your disposal.”
“You are too good, Madame,” replied the priest. “You are sure my presence—our conversation—will not bore you?” There was a little twinkle in his eye.
“On the contrary,” responded Mme de Trélan. “I find all this passionately interesting. I feel that I am assisting at a romance. Is it not in the old fairy-tales that three sons of a king come after a treasure, or to slay a dragon, or free a princess?—and it is always the third and last who succeeds.”
“Alas, Madame,” said the third and last adventurer, “I am no king’s son. That description may serve for MM. de Céligny and de Brencourt, but my father was a shoemaker. I should not be worthy to free a princess. Besides, as I have told you, I am a priest.”
“Moreover there are no princesses here,” added Valentine hastily, annoyed with herself for having chosen just that illustration.
“Nor a dragon?” enquired the treasure-seeker.
“No, unless it be the Deputy or the sentry.”
“The latter, indeed, may be wondering at our conversation now, if he can see us in here,” observed the gardener, and he began to move towards the steps. “By the way, Madame, is it true that the Deputy Camain does not come here much now? I heard from . . . a source of information . . . that his visits, at one time very frequent, have practically ceased of late. Is that so? It is somewhat important for me to know.”
“Yes, that is quite correct,” answered the Duchesse, and was again annoyed with herself because she felt the colour rising to her face.