"My dear mother," said Gerald, firmly, but deferentially, "you have always found me, and you will always find me, the most affectionate and respectful of sons; and it is hardly necessary for me to add that my name, which is also yours, shall be always and everywhere honoured and worthy of honour. But what else can you expect? I am twenty-four, and I live and amuse myself like a man of twenty-four." "But, Gerald, you know that the life you are leading has troubled me very much for a long time, both on your account and my own. You shun society, though your name and talents entitle you to a distinguished place in its ranks, and you keep very bad company." "Well, so far as women are concerned, I am forced to say that what you call bad company is the best, in my opinion. Come, come, mother, don't be angry! You know I'm still a soldier, so far as plain speaking is concerned. I consequently admit that I have a slight weakness for pretty girls in the lower walks of life. So far as men are concerned, I have friends of whom any man might be proud; but one of the dearest among them is a former soldier in my regiment. If you knew him, mother, you would have a better opinion of me," added Gerald, smiling, "for you judge a man by his friends, you know." "Is there anybody in the world but you who chooses his intimate friends from among common soldiers?" exclaimed the duchess, shrugging her shoulders disdainfully. "I think so, my dear mother, though it isn't everybody who has a chance to select his friends on the battle-field." "But I am not talking of your relations with men, my son, I am reproaching you for compromising yourself as you do with those common girls." "But they are so amusing." "My son!" "Pardon me, my dear mother," said Gerald, kissing his mother in spite of her strenuous efforts to prevent it. "I was wrong, yes, I was wrong. The truth is, though,--but, oh, dear! what shall I say? I don't want to horrify you again--but really, mother, vestal virgins are not to my taste, and you surely wouldn't like to see me carrying ruin and desolation into happy households, would you, mother?" he continued, in half tragic tones. "Besides, the truth is,--for virtue's sake, perhaps,--I like girls of the people better. The sanctity of marriage isn't outraged, you see, and then, as I said before, they're infinitely more amusing." "You will excuse me from expressing any opinion on your choice of mistresses," retorted the duchess, angrily; "but it is certainly my duty to censure in the severest manner the strange frivolity of your conduct. You do not realise how you are injuring yourself." "In what way?" "Do you suppose that if the question of a marriage was broached--" "A marriage?" cried Gerald; "but I've no intention of marrying, not the slightest." "You will do me the favour to listen to me, I hope." "I am listening." "You know Madame de Mirecourt?"