"What did I tell you, Katinka," she laughed, "the duke is a veritable clock in exactitude."
"It proves his love and devotion, madame," rejoined the maid.
"I would prefer a less well-regulated love, Katinka," retorted the countess. "These persons who worship at fixed hours seem to have a watch where the heart ought to be. There now, I am almost sorry to be so completely dressed and ready, and to have no excuse to make that poor duke wait longer to reward him for his pitiless exactitude."
"But, madame," remonstrated the maid, "if you dislike him so, why do you marry him?"
"Why?" echoed the countess, absent-mindedly, giving another glance at the mirror; "why do I marry M. de Riancourt? Really, Katinka, you are more inquisitive than I am; does one ever know why one marries?"
"Everybody seems to think there exist excellent reasons for this marriage, nevertheless," pursued Katinka. "Although M. de Riancourt has no gold mines in Crimea, silver mines in the Ural Mountains, diamond—"
"In mercy, Katinka, don't go over the list of my riches!" cried the countess, impatiently.
"Well, madame, although the duke has not your immense possessions, he is one of the wealthiest and greatest noblemen in France; he is young and handsome, has never led a dissipated life, and—"
"And he is worthy of wearing a wreath of orange blossoms on our wedding day—a right which I have not; but, in heaven's name, spare me his virtues. My aunt sounds his praises loud enough without assistance."
"Yes, the princess is very fond of monsieur le duc, and she is not the only one who—"