"Ah! I must have something, you know, marquis! Now, you possess an enchanting wife, and I, my gayety! I never had any other companion; but it has its good points.—Mon Dieu! what do I see? What miracle is this? Is it really he? Yes, it is himself, on my word!"
"Of whom are you speaking, De Noirteuil?"
"Of that young cavalier whom I see yonder, at the entrance of the gallery; dressed in the extreme of fashion, with princely magnificence! But he carries it well, vrai Dieu! He is a very pretty fellow, that Léodgard de Marvejols!"
"Ah! you are speaking of the Comte de Marvejols?—What is the matter, Valentine? do you feel ill?"
"I, monsieur? not in the least. Why do you ask me that?"
"Because it seemed to me that your arm suddenly rested very heavily on mine.—I am happy that my alarm was unfounded."
"I uttered that exclamation of surprise," continued the hunchback, "because it is a long while since young Marvejols has been seen at any ball or party; he has ceased entirely to go to court; in short, between us, he is looked upon as a regular mauvais sujet, who frequents only courtesans and low gambling hells!"
"It would seem that you are not his friend, monsieur," said Valentine, with an ironical glance at the little man.
"I, madame la marquise? Oh! I bear him no ill will. I have never been his rival. Ha! ha!—Look, he is coming this way!"
Léodgard, having learned from several persons that the Marquise de Santoval was in that room, was trying to force his way through the crowd and had succeeded in reaching a point within a few feet of the window where Valentine was.