The clock in the neighbouring steeple struck nine, and Olivier, remembering the mission he had promised to fulfil, said:
"Well, it is nine o'clock. I am going."
"My dear Olivier," said Gerald, "you forget your own anxieties in your solicitude for my interests; and I, in my selfishness, haven't said so much as a word to you about your sweetheart."
"What sweetheart?"
"Why, the young girl you met at Madame Herbaut's Sunday."
"I would that your love affair were as tranquil as mine, Gerald; that is, if you can dignify with that name the interest one naturally feels in a young girl who is neither happy nor at all pretty, but who has a sweet face, an excellent disposition, and great originality of character."
"But you are thinking of this poor girl a great deal of the time, it seems to me."
"That is true, though I really don't know why. If I find out I will tell you. But never mind me. You have just displayed a vast amount of heroism in forgetting your own passion long enough to interest yourself in what you are pleased to call my love affair," said Olivier, smiling. "This generosity on your part is sure to be rewarded, so courage, my friend! Keep up a good heart and wait for me here."
Herminie, for her part, was thinking of Olivier's approaching visit with a vague uneasiness that cast a slight cloud over her usually radiant face.
"What can M. Olivier want?" thought the duchess. "This is the first time he has ever asked to call on me, and he wishes to see me on a very important matter, he says in his note. This important matter cannot concern him. What if it should concern Gerald, who is his most intimate friend? But I saw Gerald only yesterday, and I shall see him again to-day, for it is to-morrow that he is to tell his mother of our love. I can't imagine why the idea of this approaching interview worries me so. But that reminds me, I must inform the portress that I am at home to M. Olivier."