When the young marquis had concluded, Monfréville looked at him with a curious expression, and said:
“My dear fellow, I have always been perfectly frank with you, and I must tell you therefore that in this whole business you acted like an idiot.”
“An idiot!” cried Chérubin.
“Yes, like the most idiotic of idiots! When a young and pretty woman deigns to receive you alone in her boudoir, it is with the purpose of having you make love to her, not to read. The poetry was only a pretext.”
“Do you think so? Mon Dieu! I had that idea, too, but I dared not venture to think—But if she had not fainted——”
“Why, that was the time above all others when victory was in your grasp. What! a lovely woman tells you to unlace her, and you ring for her maid! Ah! my poor Chérubin, if this adventure becomes known, it will do you a deal of harm in society.”
“Great heaven! you distress me! But I didn’t know—However, I will repair my blunder; in the first place, the next time that I go to see the lovely Emma in her boudoir, I will have no perfumery at all; and then—oh! I will be very enterprising.”
“I trust that you may be able to set yourself right with the countess, but I doubt it.”
“Why so?”
“Because with women, especially coquettes, a lost opportunity never recurs. So I will bet that Madame de Valdieri won’t speak to you again and won’t make any more appointments with you.”