"She is nineteen, I know," said General Ratoneau. "Too young for me, you think? Well, I am forty-two, the same age as the Emperor, and he married a young wife last year." "You wish to resemble His Majesty in every way," said Madame de Sainfoy, smiling graciously; it was necessary to say something. "I am like him, I know--sapristi, it is an advantage. But I am a better match in one way, madame. I have never been married. I have no wife to get rid of, before offering myself to Mademoiselle de Sainfoy. She looks like a good girl, and she is devilish pretty. I dare say she will do what she likes with me. Anyhow, it is a good marriage for her, and for me. I am well off, I shall not expect much money." In Adélaïde de Sainfoy's heart there was amazement at herself for having listened even so long and so patiently. This was indeed a trial of her theories. But after all, common sense was stronger than sentiment. "We must live in our own times," she reminded herself. "These are the people of the future; the past is dead." Her eyes wandered round the room. Every man she saw there was a gentleman, with ancestors, with manners, with traditions. Whether they were returned emigrants or people who had by _force majeure_ accepted the Revolution and the Empire, all bore the stamp of that old world which they alone kept in memory. Differences of dress, a new simplicity, ease and freedom, a revolt against formalities, these things made a certain separation between the new country society and the old. But gentlemen and ladies all her guests were, except the man who sat beside her and asked for Hélène as coolly as if he were asking for one of her dog's puppies. Yet Madame de Sainfoy repeated to herself, "The past is dead!" "You do us great honour," she repeated; for so strong-minded a person, the tone and words were vague. "That is precisely what you do not think, madame," said Ratoneau, looking her straight in the face with a not unpleasant smile. She was very conscious of the resolute will, the power to command, which the man possessed in common with his master. Who could refuse Napoleon anything? except a man or woman here and there with whom the repulsion was stronger than the attraction. Adélaïde de Sainfoy was not one of these. "You are mistaken; I do," she said, and smiled back with all her brilliancy. "It is true," he said, "I am not yet a Duke, or a Marshal of France, like the others. I have had enemies--envious people: my very wounds, marks of honour, have come between me and glory. But next year, madame, when I have swept the Chouans out of the West, you will see. I have a friend at Court, now, besides. One of the Empress's equerries, Monsieur Monge, is an old brother-in-arms of mine. The Emperor has ennobled him; he is the Baron de Beauclair--a prettier name than Monge, n'est-ce pas?" "But that is charming! Tell me more about this friend of yours," said Madame de Sainfoy, rather eagerly.