“That which emanates from the following dilemma: Either Danae is obliged to hide from Jupiter—or, rather, from Maecenas—her intimacy with you—and you are only a lover who simply loves her—or else Maecenas is an epicurean who has no objection to share his fortune philosophically; so that ostensibly you sit at the feast without paying the cost—which is worse yet.”
“Does any one dare to say that of me?” cried the General, springing from his chair.
“They are beginning to say it,” the Duke replied, his eyes fixed on his brother-in-law, who paced to and fro, gnawing his moustache. “I ask your pardon for throwing such a bucket of ice-water on you, but with men of your constitution—”
“Pleurisy is not mortal,” Henri interrupted briefly. “I know. Don’t worry about me.”
“I knew you would understand,” said the Duke, going toward the door of his own apartments. “That is the reason why I have not spared you a thorough ducking!”
“I thank you,” said the General, as he was about to leave the room. “I will talk to you about this tomorrow. The night brings counsel.”
Wrapped in thought, he made his way to the little suite of apartments between the ground floor and the first story which he occupied, and which had a separate door opening on the Rue de Bellechase.
At the foot of the stairs, in a coach-house which had been transformed into a chamber, slept the orderlies beneath the apartment of their chief. This apartment, composed of four rooms, was of the utmost simplicity, harmonizing with the poverty of its occupant, who made it a point of honor not to attempt to disguise his situation.
The ante-chamber formed a military bureau for the General and his chief orderly.
The salon, hung with draperies to simulate a tent, had no other decoration than some trophies of Arabian arms, souvenirs of raids upon rebellious tribes.