“Then am I going to see a man called Camusot?” she asked.
“With a nose to match his name,”[*] assented Chesnel.
[*] Camus, flat-nosed
The old notary felt his heart dead within him, but he thought it none the less necessary to humor the Duchess, to laugh when she laughed, and shed tears when she wept; groaning in spirit, all the same, over the feminine frivolity which could find matter for a jest while setting about a matter so serious. What would he not have done to save the Count? While Chesnel dressed; Mme. de Maufrigneuse sipped the cup of coffee and cream which Brigitte brought her, and agreed with herself that provincial women cooks are superior to Parisian chefs, who despise the little details which make all the difference to an epicure. Thanks to Chesnel’s taste for delicate fare, Brigitte was found prepared to set an excellent meal before the Duchess.
Chesnel and his charming companion set out for M. and Mme. Camusot’s house.
“Ah! so there is a Mme. Camusot?” said the Duchess. “Then the affair may be managed.”
“And so much the more readily, because the lady is visibly tired enough of living among us provincials; she comes from Paris,” said Chesnel.
“Then we must have no secrets from her?”
“You will judge how much to tell or to conceal,” Chesnel replied humbly. “I am sure that she will be greatly flattered to be the Duchesse de Maufrigneuse’s hostess; you will be obliged to stay in her house until nightfall, I expect, unless you find it inconvenient to remain.”
“Is this Mme. Camusot a good-looking woman?” asked the Duchess, with a coxcomb’s air.