“How inexplicable Parisian women are!” exclaimed Thaddeus. “When they are loved to madness they want to be loved reasonably: and when they are loved reasonably they reproach a man for not loving them at all.” “And they are quite right. Thaddeus,” she went on, smiling, “I know Adam well; I am not angry with him; he is volatile and above all grand seigneur. He will always be content to have me as his wife and he will never oppose any of my tastes, but--” “Where is the marriage in which there are no ‘buts’?” said Thaddeus, gently, trying to give another direction to Clementine’s mind. The least presuming of men might well have had the thought which came near rendering this poor lover beside himself; it was this: “If I do not tell her now that I love her I am a fool,” he kept saying to himself. Neither spoke; and there came between the pair one of those deep silences that are crowded with thoughts. The countess examined Paz covertly, and Paz observed her in a mirror. Buried in an armchair like a man digesting his dinner, the image of a husband or an indifferent old man, Paz crossed his hands upon his stomach and twirled his thumbs mechanically, looking stupidly at them. “Why don’t you tell me something good of Adam?” cried Clementine suddenly. “Tell me that he is not volatile, you who know him so well.” The cry was fine. “Now is the time,” thought poor Paz, “to put an insurmountable barrier between us. Tell you good of Adam?” he said aloud. “I love him; you would not believe me; and I am incapable of telling you harm. My position is very difficult between you.” Clementine lowered her head and looked down at the tips of his varnished boots. “You Northern men have nothing but physical courage,” she said complainingly; “you have no constancy in your opinions.” “How will you amuse yourself alone, madame?” said Paz, assuming a careless air. “Are not you going to keep me company?” “Excuse me for leaving you.” “What do you mean? Where are you going?” The thought of a heroic falsehood had come into his head. “I--I am going to the Circus in the Champs Elysees; it opens to-night, and I can’t miss it.” “Why not?” said Clementine, questioning him by a look that was half-anger. “Must I tell you why?” he said, coloring; “must I confide to you what I hide from Adam, who thinks my only love is Poland.” “Ah! a secret in our noble captain?” “A disgraceful one--which you will perhaps understand, and pity.” “You, disgraced?” “Yes, I, Comte Paz; I am madly in love with a girl who travels all over France with the Bouthor family,--people who have the rival circus to Franconi; but they play only at fairs. I have made the director at the Cirque-Olympique engage her.” “Is she handsome?”