"Who is this Marquise de Santoval? where does she come from?" asked Monclair.
"It is plain that you spend all your time in wine shops, Monclair; otherwise, you would know that the Marquis de Santoval married Mademoiselle Valentine de Mongarcin, the daughter of an illustrious family."
"Oh, yes! I remember now.—And it is this young woman who is so beautiful, you say?"
"Montrevert does not exaggerate," said La Valteline. "A few days ago, I was at a ball at Madame de Beaumont's, and the young Marquise de Santoval was there. Her entrance caused a sensation; the whole salon joined in a cry of admiration!—That young woman turned everybody's head. In addition to her beauty, there is an expression on her face which it is impossible to describe—coquetry, pride, languor, irony—and the combination is simply ravishing!"
"Well, well! it would seem that this Santoval is a very lucky man!"
"He is far too much so, messieurs! He is in great danger!"
"The devil! we must take precautions, then. For this husband is a veritable wild boar, supplied with nasty tusks."
"Let us go to supper, messieurs."
"Let us go to supper."
The young men walked away; but Léodgard, who had overheard them, remained seated on a bench under the trees, saying thoughtfully to himself: