"Mademoiselle Feliciani, a daughter of Count Feliciani."
"Count Feliciani, the—er—defaulter?"
"I don't know what he may have done," said I, "but I met them years ago, at the Schloss Lichtenberg. Then they were entirely ruined. I met Mademoiselle Feliciani last night in a most curious way; and she has been living in great poverty. In fact, I"—and here I blushed, I believe—"I have taken her under my protection."
Protection! Oh, hideous word, uttered in the simplicity of youth! Beautiful word, that men have debased—men who would debase the angels, could they with their foul hands touch those immaculate wings.
"I hope, sir, you don't object?"
"Object!"
"I have given her the Pavilion to live in," continued I, encouraged by my guardian's smile of frank approval. "The only thing that grieves me is," I went on, "that her mother is dead, and that I cannot offer her my protection, too."
My guardian opened his eyes at this; and I blundering along, blushing, surprised into one of those charming confidences of youth which youth so rarely betrays, told him of the beauty of the Countess Feliciani, and of how much I had admired her as a child, and how I had visited her and seen her, prematurely aged, ruined, the gold of her beautiful hair turned to snow, her face lined with the wrinkles of age; and then it was, I think, that M. le Vicomte began to perceive that my relationship with Eloise was other than what he had imagined.
"A pure love!" I can imagine him saying to himself. "Why, mon Dieu! that might lead to marriage—marriage with a Feliciani—an outcast, a beggar! We must arrange all this; it is a question of diplomacy."
But by no sign did he betray these thoughts. He listened to the woes of the Felicianis, the picture of sympathetic benevolence; and, when I had finished, he said: "Ah, poor things!" And then, after a moment's reverie, as though he were recalling the love affairs of his own youth: "It is sad. Tell me, are you very much enamoured of this Mademoiselle Feliciani?"