"And this tutelage will not stop there, my dear sir, be quite assured. Thus, in this view of the case (which her grace the duchess will readily approve, I do not doubt), an idea has just struck me to make you a proposition." "Me, sir?" said Conrad, beginning to dislike the sneering tone of Florestan. "You. I leave in some days for Gerolstein. I wish to dispose of my house, all furnished, and my stables; you also should make _an arrangement_." The viscount emphasized these last words, looking at Madame de Lucenay. "It would be very piquant, would it not, your grace?" "I do not comprehend you, sir," said Montbrison, more and more astonished. "I will tell you, Conrad, why you cannot accept the offer which has been made you," said Clotilde. "And why cannot his grace accept my offer, madame?" "My dear Conrad, that which is proposed to be sold to you is already sold to others. You comprehend? You would have the inconvenience of being robbed as on the highway." Florestan bit his lips with rage. "Take care, madame," cried he. "How? threats here?" said Conrad. "Come now, Conrad, pay no attention," said Madame de Lucenay, eating a bonbon imperturbably. "A man of honor ought not, nor may not, commit himself with this gentleman. If he insists, I will tell you wherefore." A terrible scene was perhaps about to take place, when the doors were again thrown open, and the Duke de Lucenay entered, and, according to custom, with much noise and disturbance. "How, my dear! not ready?" said he to his wife. "Why, it is astonishing--surprising! Good-evening, Saint Remy; good-evening, Conrad. Oh, you see before you the most despairing of men--that is to say, I cannot sleep; I cannot eat; I am stupefied; I cannot get used to it. Poor D'Harville, what an event!" And M. de Lucenay, throwing himself backward on a sofa, threw his hat from him with a gesture of despair, and, crossing his left leg over the right knee, he took his foot in his hand, continuing to utter exclamations of grief. The emotions of Conrad and Florestan had time to be subdued before M. de Lucenay, the least observing man in the world, had perceived anything. Madame de Lucenay, not from embarrassment--she was not a woman to be untimely embarrassed--but the presence of Florestan was repugnant and unsupportable, said to the duke, "When you are ready, we will go. I am to present Conrad to Madame de Senneval." "No!" said the duke; and, throwing down a cushion, he arose quickly, and began to walk about, violently gesticulating. "I cannot help but think of poor D'Harville; can you, Saint Remy?" "Truly, a frightful event!" said the viscount, who, with hatred and rage in his heart, sought the looks of Montbrison; but he, after the last words of his cousin, not from want of courage, but from pride, turned away from a man so terribly debased.