"I would that your love affair were as tranquil as mine, Gerald; that is, if you can dignify with that name the interest one naturally feels in a young girl who is neither happy nor at all pretty, but who has a sweet face, an excellent disposition, and great originality of character." "But you are thinking of this poor girl a great deal of the time, it seems to me." "That is true, though I really don't know why. If I find out I will tell you. But never mind me. You have just displayed a vast amount of heroism in forgetting your own passion long enough to interest yourself in what you are pleased to call my love affair," said Olivier, smiling. "This generosity on your part is sure to be rewarded, so courage, my friend! Keep up a good heart and wait for me here." * * * * * Herminie, for her part, was thinking of Olivier's approaching visit with a vague uneasiness that cast a slight cloud over her usually radiant face. "What can M. Olivier want?" thought the duchess. "This is the first time he has ever asked to call on me, and he wishes to see me on a very important matter, he says in his note. This important matter cannot concern him. What if it should concern Gerald, who is his most intimate friend? But I saw Gerald only yesterday, and I shall see him again to-day, for it is to-morrow that he is to tell his mother of our love. I can't imagine why the idea of this approaching interview worries me so. But that reminds me, I must inform the portress that I am at home to M. Olivier." As she spoke, she pulled a bell that communicated with the room of Madame Moufflon, the portress, who promptly responded to the summons. "Madame Moufflon, some one will call to see me this morning, and you are to admit the visitor," said Herminie. "If it is a lady, of course. I understand." "But it is not a lady who will call this morning," replied Herminie, with some embarrassment. "It is not a lady? Then it must be that little hunchback I have orders to admit at any time, I suppose." "No, Madame Moufflon, it is not M. de Maillefort, but a young man." "A young man?" exclaimed the portress, "a young man? Well, this is the first time--" "The young man will tell you his name. It is Olivier." "Olivier? That is not hard to remember. I'll just think of olives; I adore them! Olivier, olives, olive oil--it is very nearly the very same thing. I sha'n't forget it. But, by the way, speaking--not of young men, for this old serpent isn't young--I saw that old scoundrel hanging around the house again last evening." "Again?" exclaimed Herminie, with a look of scorn and disgust at the thought of Ravil. For this cynic, since his first meeting with Herminie, had made numerous attempts to see the young girl, but the portress proving above bribery, he had written several times to Herminie, who had treated his letters with the disdain they deserved.