"The Marquise de Versac? I don't know her personally, but I know her very well by name. It's one of the oldest and richest families in the city, and I know madame la marquise has a magnificent country house on the river, four leagues from Lyon." Dubourg asked no more questions; he was in raptures. He dismissed the landlady, and began to pace the floor, saying to himself: "I shall certainly accept madame la marquise's invitation; the acquaintance cannot fail to be exceedingly agreeable to me, and, who knows? perhaps I may find there some baroness or viscountess whose head I can turn; who will marry me, and endow me with estates and châteaux! Well, what would there be so surprising in that? I am young, not bad-looking; I have a certain style, which must have attracted Madame la Marquise de Versac. But, deuce take me! what if she herself---- Ah! I forgot to ask about that." Dubourg rang again, and the landlady reappeared. "I beg your pardon, my dear hostess," he said; "but I have reasons for wishing to know if Madame la Marquise de Versac is married." "She is still a widow, I think, monsieur; it's only three years since Monsieur de Versac died, and since then I haven't heard----" "Very good, very good, madame," said Dubourg, dismissing her again; and he capered about the room, looking at himself in the mirror, and saying: "She's a widow! there's no doubt about her being a widow still, or the invitation would be in her husband's name. Now, this becomes interesting: a very rich young widow, who has a magnificent country house, and who writes me that she will be charmed to entertain me! for that's what it says. Let's read it again: yes, 'delighted to entertain you.'--It seems to me that that almost amounts to a declaration. You shall entertain me, charming creature! I promise you. By the way, I forgot to ask if she was charming, but it can't be otherwise; at all events, I don't care so much for beauty, now; I am reasonable, I am more attracted by solid advantages. This very evening she shall see the noble stranger. But, damnation! when she finds out that the palatine is only a humble bourgeois! After all, I am an honest Breton, and an honest Breton's as good as any other man; besides, we haven't come to that yet. I must begin by captivating her. When a woman is fascinated, does she recognize ranks and distances? Love equalizes everything: the lord of the thunder loved simple mortals, and the shepherd Paris had it in his power to lie with the loveliest goddesses in Olympus. To lie with Madame de Versac, I'll give her all the apples she wants." Ménard made his appearance while Dubourg was strutting about his bedroom, trying to assume a courtly air. As soon as he caught sight of the tutor, he thrust the letter into his face, crying: "_Tolle, lege_, my dear Ménard." Ménard recoiled, because the odor of musk exhaled by the letter made him ill.