“The esprit Gaulois is the sparkle of crystal common sense, madame, and may we never abandon it for a Puritanism that hides its face to conceal its filthiness, like a stagnant pond,” replied M. Livret, flashing.
“It seems, then, that there are two ways of being objectionable,” said Renée.
“Ah! Madame la Marquise, your wit is French,” he breathed low; “keep your heart so!”
Both M. Livret and M. d’Orbec had forgotten that when Count Henri d’Henriel was received at Tourdestelle, the arrival of the Englishman was pleasantly anticipated by them as an eclipse of the handsome boy; but a foreign interloper is quickly dispossessed of all means of pleasing save that one of taking his departure; and they now talked of Count Henri’s disgrace and banishment in a very warm spirit of sympathy, not at all seeing why it should be made to depend upon the movements of this M. Beauchamp, as it appeared to be. Madame d’Auffray heard some of their dialogue, and hurried with a mouth full of comedy to Renée, who did not reproach them for silly beings, as would be done elsewhere. On the contrary, she appreciated a scene of such absolute comedy, recognizing it instantly as a situation plucked out of human nature. She compared them to republicans that regretted the sovereign they had deposed for a pretender to start up and govern them.
“Who hurries them round to the legitimate king again!” said Madame d’Auffray.
Renée cast her chin up. “How, my dear?”
“Your husband.”
“What of him?”
“He is returning.”
“What brings him?”