These last words decided Madame de Lucenay; she at length recognized the father of Florestan, and cried, "M. de Saint Remy!" Her position was so plain and significant, that the duchess disdained to have recourse to a falsehood to explain the motive of her presence in this house; counting on the paternal affection which the count had formerly shown her, she extended her hand, and said, with an air--gracious, cordial, and fearless--which belonged only to her, "Come, do not scold! you are my oldest friend! Do you remember, more than twenty years ago, you called me your dear Clotilde?" "Yes, I called you thus, but--" "I know in advance all that you will say to me; you know my motto; _What is, is; what shall be, shall be._" "Ah, Clotilde!" "Spare me your reproaches; let me rather speak to you of my joy at seeing you! your presence recalls so many things; my poor father, in the first place; and then my fifteenth year. Ah! fifteen--sweet fifteen!" "It was because your father was my friend, that--" "Oh, yes!" answered the duchess, interrupting him, "he loved you so much! Do you remember he called you, laughingly 'Green Ribbon.' You always said to him, 'You will spoil Clotilde; take care!' and he would answer, embracing me, 'I believe I spoil her; and I must hurry and spoil her more, for soon fashion will carry her off, and spoil her in its turn.' Excellent father that I lost!" A tear glistened in the fine eyes of Madame de Lucenay, and giving her hand to Saint Remy, she said to him, in an agitated voice, "True, I am happy, very happy to see you again; you awaken souvenirs so precious, so dear to my heart! If you have been in Paris for any time," continued Madame de Lucenay, "it was very unkind in you not to come to see me; we should have talked so much of the past; for you know I begin to arrive at the age when there is a great charm in talking to old friends." Perhaps the duchess could not have spoken with more nonchalance if she had been receiving a visit at Lucenay House. Saint Remy could not refrain from saying, earnestly, "Instead of talking of the past, let us talk of the present. My son may come in at any moment, and--" "No!" said Clotilde, interrupting him, "I have the key of the private door, and his arrival is always announced by a bell when he comes in by the gate; at this noise I shall disappear as mysteriously as I came, and leave you alone. What a sweet surprise you are going to cause him! you, who have for so long a time abandoned him!" "Hold! I have reproaches to make you." "To me, to me?" "Certainly! What guide, what assistance had I on entering into society? and, for a thousand things, the counsels of a father are indispensable. Thus, frankly, it has been very wrong in you to--"