“Madame must know me, she knows that I am not a chatterbox; I would rather be chopped in pieces than betray a secret.”
“Well, my dear, I am not a widow.”
“Oho! is it possible? Madame’s husband is still alive?”
“Yes, and what is more, I know from someone who has met him lately that he is living in Paris at this moment.”
“Well, that is news indeed; the Baron de Grangeville is alive!”
“Not the Baron de Grangeville, for that isn’t his name; I did not choose to bear his name any longer.”
“I understand; so madame is not really a baroness then?”
“I was a countess, Lizida, which is much better; for my husband is a count!”
“Oh! excuse me, madame, excuse me! madame la comtesse! Ah! ‘madame la comtesse’! how lovely it is to say that! will you allow me to call you that, madame?”
“No, you would become accustomed to it; besides, I don’t want that title any more, it would remind me of a time that I wish to forget.”