"How does he reconcile this taste for a noble passion with the tastes of the old court?" "That is a very simple matter. When our friend was young, he loved all the ladies, so they say. As he grew older, his heart grew cold; but he thinks that he conceals that fact, as he thinks that he conceals his wrinkles, by pretending to have been converted to the superior virtue of noble sentiments by the example of the heroes of _Astrée_. So that, to excuse himself for not paying court to any fair lady, he boasts that he is faithful to a single one, whom he never names, whom no one ever has seen or ever will see, for the excellent reason that she exists only in his imagination." "Is it possible that at his age he still feels bound to pretend to be in love?" "He must do so, since he wishes to pass for a young man. If he were willing to admit that all women had become equally indifferent to him, why should he take the trouble to smear his face and to wear false hair?" "So in your opinion it is not possible to be young without being enamored of some woman?" "Oh! I know nothing about it," replied Madame de Beuvre gayly; "I have had no experience and I know nothing of men's hearts. But I sometimes hear it said that such is the fact, and Monsieur de Bois-Doré seems to be convinced of it. What is your own opinion thereon, messire?" "It seems to me," said D'Alvimar, who was curious to know the young woman's ideas, "that one can live a long while on a past love, awaiting a love to come." She made no reply, but looked up at the sky with her lovely blue eyes. "Of what are you thinking?" he asked her, with a familiarity that was perhaps a little too sympathetic. Lauriane seemed surprised at this impertinent question. She looked him straight in the face with an expression that seemed to say: "What business is that of yours?" But she replied with a smile, not seeking to defend herself with unnecessarily stern words: "I was not thinking of anything." "That is impossible," rejoined D'Alvimar; "one is always thinking of something or somebody." "But we think vaguely, so vaguely that in a moment we have forgotten." Lauriane did not speak truly. She had been thinking of Charlotte d'Albret, and we will translate all that had passed through her mind in that brief reverie. That poor princess had appeared to her, as it were, to make the reply which D'Alvimar was seeking, and that reply was as follows: "A maiden who has never loved sometimes accepts rashly the first love that presents itself, because she feels impatient to love, and sometimes she falls into the arms of a knave who tortures her, wrecks her life and deserts her." D'Alvimar was far from suspecting the curious warning that that young heart had received; he fancied that she was indulging in a bit of coquetry, and the game attracted him, although his heart was as cold as marble. He persisted.