"That is true," said Albert; "and if I had found him this morning, I probably should have employed him to do my errand."
"Well," continued Monsieur Vermoncey, "hereafter I propose to employ no other messenger than you. What is your name?"
"Paul, monsieur."
"Very well, Paul, you understand, you are to be my messenger. You are not sorry, I trust, are you?"
"Far from it, monsieur; and I will do all that I can to deserve your confidence."
"I am sure of it, my friend; and now—au revoir!"
Paul bowed low and left the room, touched to the quick by the interest manifested by Monsieur Vermoncey, and with his heart filled with a strange joy, the cause of which he was at a loss to understand.
When Albert was alone with his father, he embraced him again.
"You were right," he cried, "perfectly right! when you told me that some love intrigues were very dangerous, that there were women who led us much further than we meant to go; and when you told me to distrust my friend Célestin, whose manner did not attract you. Yes, father; you judged him fairly. My friend Célestin is a traitor, who deceived me and tried to rob me of the woman I was trying to overcome; and as for her,—as false as and even more treacherous than Célestin, as she had not love for an excuse,—she pretended to love me, gave me the most alluring hopes, and secretly requested a Swedish count, who was paying court to her, to rid her of me as soon as possible."
"What infernal perfidy! Can it be that women treat you so—young as you are, and amiable, and made to please!"