"Assuredly that is a word I shall not say, my dear love; far from it, I shall say one which, on the contrary, would prevent you from renouncing those vain joys of the world, and which you seem so greatly to undervalue." "And that word----" "Do you recollect the night at the Théâtre Français?" "Certainly." "I mean do you remember the circumstances which have most attracted the public attention, not on the stage, but amongst the auditory?" "Why, first there was Madame Girard's strange head-dress." "Yes, the sobieska, certainly; and then?" Bertha was so far from expecting what her husband was about to say to her, that she reflected a minute or so before she replied,-- "I do not know; was it the Marquise de Luceval?" "You are, at the same time, drawing nearer to the truth and the box of the person to whom I allude." "In what way?" "In the next box to Madame de Luceval do you not remember a very handsome foreign princess, of whom all the world was speaking in terms of admiration?" "A foreign princess!" repeated Bertha mechanically, whilst her heart was struck with an indefinable presentiment. "Yes, the Princess de Hansfeld." "What! the princess! It is she to whom----" "I hope to present you the day after to-morrow." "Oh, never, never!" exclaimed Bertha, involuntarily. To take advantage of this offer, which gave her the means of seeing the prince again, seemed to her most odious treachery. De Brévannes, although astonished at his wife's exclamation, at first believed that she refused from timidity, and said,-- "Come, come, what a child you are! Although a a very high lady, the Princess de Hansfeld is one of the plainest persons in the world, and you will please her very much, I am sure." "My dear Charles, I beg of you not to introduce me to the princess, but leave me in the retirement in which I have hitherto lived." "My dearest girl, I beg of you, in my turn," said De Brévannes, repressing his ire, "not to have any such whim and bad taste. But just now you decided on doing what I desired, and yet now you wish to withdraw your promise. Be consistent, pray." "It is really impossible! No, no, Charles, I beg of you, do not exact this from me." "Really now, this is quite silly! You obstinately refuse what so many would sue for as an unexpected boon." "I know it, I believe it; and, therefore, if I refuse, believe that I have my reasons for so doing." "Reasons! reasons! and what may they be?" "None in particular, but I have no wish to go into society." De Brévannes amazed at this resistance vainly endeavoured to detect the cause. He was persuaded that the love of retirement was not the sole motive for this refusal, and, for a moment, he believed his wife jealous of the princess, and therefore replied, with a sort of kind air,-- "Be candid now, conceal nothing from me,--is there not a little jealousy in this?" "Jealousy?" "Yes; are you foolish enough to imagine that I am smitten by the princess?"