"To that extent?" said Lucan, dumfounded.
"It is a terrible thing, mon cher," rejoined Monsieur de Moras. "I am absolutely in love; when she looks at me, when I touch her hand, when her dress rustles against me, I feel, as it were, a philter running through my veins. I had heard of emotions of that kind, but I had never felt them. I must confess that they delight me; but at the same time they distress me, for I cannot conceal the fact to myself that there are a thousand chances against one that my passion will not be reciprocated, and it really seems as though my heart should wear mourning for it as long as it shall beat."
"What an adventure!" said Lucan, who had recovered all his gravity. "That is a very serious matter; very annoying."
He walked a few steps about the parlor, absorbed in thoughts that seemed of a rather somber character.
"Is Julia aware of your sentiments?" he said, suddenly.
"Most certainly not; I would not have taken the liberty of informing her of them without first speaking to you. Will you be kind enough to act as my ambassador to her mother?"
"Why, yes, with pleasure," said Lucan, with a shade of hesitation that did not escape his friend.
"You think that is useless, don't you?" said the count with a forced smile.
"Useless—why so?"
"In the first place, it is very late."