“Not socially, madame. They exist as mechanical factors of the legislative machine; but that is all.” He swelled as if the blood of the Montmorencys and the Colignys boiled in his veins. “We do not ask them into our drawing rooms. We do not allow them to marry our daughters. We only salute them with cold politeness when we pass them in the street.”
“It’s astonishing,” said Miss Errington, “how strongly the aristocratic principle exists in republican France. Now, there’s our friend, the Comte de Lussigny, for instance——”
A frown momentarily darkened the cloudless brow of Aristide Pujol. He did not like the Comte de Lussigny——
“With Monsieur de Lussigny,” he interposed, “it is a matter of prejudice, not of principle.”
“And with you?”
“The reasoned philosophy of a lifetime, mademoiselle,” answered Aristide. He turned to Mrs. Errington.
“How long have you known Monsieur de Lussigny, madame?”
She looked at her daughter. “It was in Monte Carlo the winter before last, wasn’t it, Betty? Since then we have met him frequently in England and Paris. We came across him, just lately, at Trouville. I think he’s charming, don’t you?”
“He’s a great gambler,” said Aristide.
Betty Errington laughed again. “But so are you. So is mamma. So am I, in my poor little way.”