“And why, madame, do you remain in this spot? Is it to attract attention?” The mournful lady smiled sadly. “Allow me the honor, madame, of being your partner in the next quadrille, and I will take care not to bring you back here. I see a vacant settee near the fire; come and take it. When so many people are ready to ascend the throne, and Royalty is the mania of the day, I cannot imagine that you will refuse the title of Queen of the Ball which your beauty may claim.” “I do not intend to dance, monsieur.” The curt tone of the lady’s replies was so discouraging that the Colonel found himself compelled to raise the siege. Martial, who guessed what the officer’s last request had been, and the refusal he had met with, began to smile, and stroked his chin, making the diamond sparkle which he wore on his finger. “What are you laughing at?” said the Comtesse de Vaudremont. “At the failure of the poor Colonel, who has just put his foot in it----” “I begged you to take your ring off,” said the Countess, interrupting him. “I did not hear you.” “If you can hear nothing this evening, at any rate you see everything, Monsieur le Baron,” said Madame de Vaudremont, with an air of vexation. “That young man is displaying a very fine diamond,” the stranger remarked to the Colonel. “Splendid,” he replied. “The man is the Baron Martial de la Roche-Hugon, one of my most intimate friends.” “I have to thank you for telling me his name,” she went on; “he seems an agreeable man.” “Yes, but he is rather fickle.” “He seems to be on the best terms with the Comtesse de Vaudremont?” said the lady, with an inquiring look at the Colonel. “On the very best.” The unknown turned pale. “Hallo!” thought the soldier, “she is in love with that lucky devil Martial.” “I fancied that Madame de Vaudremont had long been devoted to M. de Soulanges,” said the lady, recovering a little from the suppressed grief which had clouded the fairness of her face. “For a week past the Countess has been faithless,” replied the Colonel. “But you must have seen poor Soulanges when he came in; he is till trying to disbelieve in his disaster.” “Yes, I saw him,” said the lady. Then she added, “Thank you very much, monsieur,” in a tone which signified a dismissal. At this moment the quadrille was coming to an end. Montcornet had only time to withdraw, saying to himself by way of consolation, “She is married.” “Well, valiant Cuirassier,” exclaimed the Baron, drawing the Colonel aside into a window-bay to breathe the fresh air from the garden, “how are you getting on?” “She is a married woman, my dear fellow.” “What does that matter?” “Oh, deuce take it! I am a decent sort of man,” replied the Colonel. “I have no idea of paying my addresses to a woman I cannot marry. Besides, Martial, she expressly told me that she did not intend to dance.” “Colonel, I will bet a hundred napoleons to your gray horse that she will dance with me this evening.”