"Oh! then it's all right, monsieur!" cried the messenger, joyfully; "you mean to make my sister happy--that is to say, you will keep the promise you made to her when you took her away from Auvergne. Ah! you make me very happy, too, and you are an excellent young man." "When I say that I want to see your sister happy, Sans-Cravate," rejoined Albert, balancing himself in his chair, "I mean that, to atone for my thoughtlessness, I propose to assure her comfort, her future. If I made promises, they were mere words, such as all young men say to pretty girls, which do not bind one to anything." Sans-Cravate pushed his chair away; he turned pale, but fastened his eyes on Albert, and exclaimed, without a trace of his former hesitation: "We have got to a point where we don't agree, but, _sacrédié!_ we must settle on something. Monsieur Albert, didn't you seduce my sister, a simple, innocent maid, who had no idea of love? Will you deny that you abused her innocence, and that you induced her to leave her home and her patroness, only by swearing that you would marry her?" "Mon Dieu! I won't deny anything! I have told you already that I admit all that. But, once more, every young man takes fifty such oaths; so much the worse for those who believe them!" "Then you don't intend to marry my sister?" Albert threw himself back in his chair again and began to laugh. "Marry your sister!" he exclaimed. "Nonsense, Sans-Cravate! Why, you can't think of such a thing! Would such a marriage be well-assorted? Come, be reasonable; you are an excellent fellow--I have no doubt of that; but what would people say if I should make you my brother-in-law? They would say that I'd gone crazy!" "Take care, monsieur!" said Sans-Cravate, struggling to control his anger. "Don't throw insults in my face. Messenger as I am, I'm a better man than you are at this moment!" "But, for God's sake, Sans-Cravate, listen to me! Is it possible for a young man to marry all the women he makes love to? Since when have your morals been so severe? Haven't you been in the habit of carrying my love letters for me? haven't you been in the secret of all my intrigues? You knew that I had three or four mistresses at once, and, far from blaming me, you were the first to laugh about it." "True--you are right, monsieur. I did your dirty work for you. I was wrong--and there was someone who told me so at the time. And yet, that same someone deceived me." "I tell you again, Sans-Cravate, that I am sorry I ever spoke to your sister, who was an innocent, virtuous girl. But still we must have mercy on all sinners. Once more, I will settle a handsome allowance on her, and----" Sans-Cravate rose and stamped on the floor, crying: