“I will tell you. M. de Choiseul has half quarreled with M. de Bernis; neither of them is sure what it is he would like to attempt. Bernis is going away; Choiseul will take his place. A word from you can decide it.” “In what way, madame, pray?” “By allowing your story of the other day to be told.” “What earthly connection can there be between my visit, the Jesuits, and the Parliament?” “Write me one word and the marquise is lost. And do not doubt that the warmest interest, the most complete gratitude--” “I humbly beg your pardon again, madame, but what you are asking of me would be an act of cowardice.” “Is there any honor in politics?” “I know nothing of all that. Madame de Pompadour let her fan fall before me; I picked it up; I gave it back to her; she thanked me; she permitted me with that peculiar grace of hers to thank her in my turn.” “A truce to ceremonies: time flies; my name is the Countess d’Estrades; you love Mademoiselle d’Annebault, my niece; do not say no, it is useless. You are seeking a cornetcy; you shall have it to-morrow, and if you care for Athénaïs you will soon be my nephew.” “Ah! madame, what excess of goodness!” “But you must speak.” “No, madame.” “I have been told that you love that little girl.” “As much as it is possible to love; but if ever my love is to declare itself in her presence my honor must also be there.” “You are very obstinate, chevalier! Is that your final reply?” “It is the last, as it was the first.” “You refuse to enter the Guards? You refuse the hand of my niece?” “Yes, madame, if that be the price.” Madame d’Estrades cast upon the chevalier a piercing look, full of curiosity; then seeing in his face no sign of hesitation she slowly walked away, losing herself in the crowd. The chevalier, unable to make anything of this singular adventure, went and sat down in a corner of the gallery. “What does that woman mean to do?” said he to himself. “She must be a little mad. She wishes to upset the state by means of a silly calumny, and she proposes to me that in order to merit the hand of her niece I should dishonor myself. But Athénaïs would no longer care for me, or, if she lent herself to such an intrigue, I would no longer care for her. What! Strive to harm this good marquise, to defame her, to blacken her character. Never! no, never!” Always intent upon his own thoughts, the chevalier very probably would have risen and spoken aloud, but just then a small rosy finger touched him on the shoulder. He raised his eyes and saw before him the pair of masks who had stopped him. “You do not wish to help us a little then?” said one of the masks, disguising her voice. But although the two costumes were exactly alike, and all seemed calculated to mislead, the chevalier was not deceived. Neither the look nor the tone was the same. “Will you answer, sir?” “No, madame.” “Will you write?” “Neither will I write.” “It is true that you are obstinate. Good-night, lieutenant.”