Madame d’Espaze put out her hand. “Stay a moment, M. de Château-Foix. I am not as insensible as you think to the fate of my friends. But you must see that I cannot afford to sacrifice my party to my personal friendships. You will say that politics is not a game for a woman—I am sure that is one of your ideas—but since I have taken it up I must play it. And these people are not friends; they only come here to pay me compliments, and I have had my fill of those for more years than I should care to acknowledge to you. Those are not the stakes for which I play now. . . . I wonder why I am saying these things to you. . . . You have come to the wrong person; it is nothing to me—not the snap of a finger—if all these young fools pay the penalty of their folly.” She was on her feet by now, walking rapidly about. “You have come to the wrong person,” she reiterated. “Madame, I do not think I have,” said Gilbert quietly. Suddenly she turned on him. “You credit me, I suppose, with being Louis’ mistress?” “That is not a matter which concerns or interests me, Madame. I want my cousin’s life, not an account of the way in which he spends it.” The Comtesse stopped in her restless walk as if struck by a sudden idea. “Then you do not know—you do not consider yourself his mentor?” “Most certainly not.” She looked at him with an interest which, undisguised as it was, held something more concealed behind it. “Have you seen much of him lately?—No, I know that you have not. Do you know that he fought the Comte de Bercy the morning after you came to Paris?” “Yes,” said Gilbert, wondering whither this was tending, “I do know it.” “But do you know why?” “No.” “You are a singular person, M. de Château-Foix,” said his hostess slowly. “If you will take my advice—but of course you will not—do not try to find out!” She turned away again and said, after a moment’s pause: “And now, if I cannot help you, what will you do?” “Ah, no, Madame,” returned Gilbert, shaking his head with the glimmer of a smile. “If you will not help me, I dare not reveal to you such poor resources as I may have, independent of your aid.” “In other words, I must be ally or enemy? You have no liking for half-measures, I see, Monsieur le Marquis. . . . Well, no more have I. And I am convinced, from what I have already seen, that I prefer you when you smile to when you frown at me. So . . . let us be allies. Will that satisfy you?” “Madame——” began Gilbert, scarcely daring to believe her words, accompanied by that brilliant and half-mocking smile. Madame d’Espaze held up both her slim hands. “No thanks, Monsieur, I beg. But instead of them, tell me, since you are so clear-sighted, how I am to set about this business of Monsieur le Vicomte?”