"Why, she is the best little woman in the world!" replied Hautefeuille.
"Then she was a poor representative of Paris," said Olivier. "What about the Austrian?"
"The Austrian?" replied Pierre.
He hesitated for a second. He knew that he would have to speak of his mistress sooner or later to Olivier. He had only mentioned his cruise in the yacht in order to bring her name into their first conversation. And yet he was afraid. What remark would his idol's name call forth from his ironical friend? There was a little unsteadiness in his voice as he repeated:
"The Austrian?" and he added, "Oh, Austria was represented by the Baroness de Carlsberg, whom you met in Rome. We have often spoken about you."
"Yes, I met her in Rome," said Olivier.
It was now his turn to hesitate. At the sound of that name spoken by his friend in the silence of the wood where was heard but the rustling of the pines, his surprise was so great that his very countenance changed. His hesitation, this alteration in his physiognomy, the very reply of Du Prat, ought to have warned Hautefeuille of some impending danger. But he dared not look at his friend, who had now mastered his quivering nerves, and said:—
"Yes, I remember, the Archduke has a villa at Cannes.—Does she live with him now?"
"Why, was she separated from him then?" asked Pierre.
"Legally, no; in reality, yes," replied Olivier.