"Why, she is the best little woman in the world!" replied Hautefeuille. "Then she was a poor representative of Paris," said Olivier. "What about the Austrian?" "The Austrian?" replied Pierre. He hesitated for a second. He knew that he would have to speak of his mistress sooner or later to Olivier. He had only mentioned his cruise in the yacht in order to bring her name into their first conversation. And yet he was afraid. What remark would his idol's name call forth from his ironical friend? There was a little unsteadiness in his voice as he repeated: "The Austrian?" and he added, "Oh, Austria was represented by the Baroness de Carlsberg, whom you met in Rome. We have often spoken about you." "Yes, I met her in Rome," said Olivier. It was now his turn to hesitate. At the sound of that name spoken by his friend in the silence of the wood where was heard but the rustling of the pines, his surprise was so great that his very countenance changed. His hesitation, this alteration in his physiognomy, the very reply of Du Prat, ought to have warned Hautefeuille of some impending danger. But he dared not look at his friend, who had now mastered his quivering nerves, and said:-- "Yes, I remember, the Archduke has a villa at Cannes.--Does she live with him now?" "Why, was she separated from him then?" asked Pierre. "Legally, no; in reality, yes," replied Olivier. He was too much of a gentleman to make even the least slighting remark about a woman of whom he had been the lover. The bitter, profound grudge he bore her manifested itself in a strange way. As he could not, as he would not speak any evil of her, he began to praise her husband, the man whom he detested the most in the world. "I never knew why they could not agree," he said. "She is very intelligent, and he is one of the first men of his time. He is one of the three or four important personages, with the Emperor of Brazil, the Prince of Monaco, and the Archduke of Bavaria, who have taken a place in the ranks of science to the honor of royalty. It appears that he is a true scientist." "He may be a true scientist," replied Hautefeuille; "I don't deny it. But he is a detestable creature.--If you had only seen him as I did, in his wife's salon, making a violent scene before six people, you would admire her for supporting life with that monster, even for a single day, and you would pity her."