"I very much regret that money, for it might have succoured so many honest families; but it was necessary to think of the shame to your father and to myself."
"So then, Clotilde, you know all? Ah, then, now nothing is left me but to die!" exclaimed Florestan, in a most pathetic and despairing tone.
A burst of derisive laughter from the duchess hailed this tragic exclamation, and she added, between two fits of fresh hilarity:
"I could never have believed infamy could appear so ridiculous!"
"Madame!" cried Florestan, his features contracted with rage.
The two folding-doors opened with a loud noise, and M. le Duc de Montbrison was announced.
In spite of his self-command, Florestan could scarcely repress the violence of his resentment, which any man more observing than the duke must certainly have perceived.
M. de Montbrison was scarcely eighteen years of age. Let our readers imagine a most engaging countenance, like that of a young girl, white and red, whose vermilion lips and downy chin were slightly shaded by a nascent beard. Let them add to this large brown eyes, as yet timid, but which in time would gleam like a falcon's, a figure as graceful as that of the duchess herself, and then, perhaps, they may have some idea of this young duke, the Cherubino as complete in idea as ever countess or waiting-maid decked in a woman's cap, after having remarked the ivory whiteness of his neck.
The vicomte had the weakness or the audacity to remain.
"How kind of you, Conrad, to think of me this evening!" said Madame de Lucenay, in a most affectionate voice, and extending her hand to the young duke, who was about to shake hands with his cousin, but Clotilde raised her hand a little, and said to him gaily: