“Well said, M. de Malicorne,” exclaimed the comte; “you are a judge of horses, I perceive;” then, turning towards him again, he continued, “you are most becomingly dressed, M. de Malicorne. That is not a provincial cut, I presume. Such a style of dress is not to be met with at Tours or Orleans.” “No, monsieur le comte; my clothes were made at Paris.” “There is no doubt about that. But let us resume our own affair. Manicamp wishes for the appointment of a second maid of honor.” “You perceive what he has written, monsieur le comte.” “For whom was the first appointment?” Malicorne felt the color rise in his face as he answered hurriedly. “A charming maid of honor, Mademoiselle de Montalais.” “Ah, ah! you are acquainted with her?” “We are affianced, or nearly so.” “That is quite another thing, then; a thousand compliments,” exclaimed De Guiche, upon whose lips a courtier’s jest was already fitting, but to whom the word “affianced,” addressed by Malicorne with respect to Mademoiselle de Montalais, recalled the respect due to women. “And for whom is the second appointment destined?” asked De Guiche; “is it for anyone to whom Manicamp may happen to be affianced? In that case I pity her, poor girl! for she will have a sad fellow for a husband.” “No, monsieur le comte; the second appointment is for Mademoiselle de la Baume le Blanc de la Vallière.” “Unknown,” said De Guiche. “Unknown? yes, monsieur,” said Malicorne, smiling in his turn. “Very good. I will speak to Monsieur about it. By the by, she is of gentle birth?” “She belongs to a very good family and is maid of honor to Madame.” “That’s well. Will you accompany me to Monsieur?” “Most certainly, if I may be permitted the honor.” “Have you your carriage?” “No; I came here on horseback.” “Dressed as you are?” “No, monsieur; I posted from Orleans, and I changed my traveling suit for the one I have on, in order to present myself to you.” “True, you already told me you had come from Orleans;” saying which he crumpled Manicamp’s letter in his hand, and thrust it in his pocket. “I beg your pardon,” said Malicorne, timidly; “but I do not think you have read all.” “Not read all, do you say?” “No; there were two letters in the same envelope.” “Oh! are you sure?” “Quite sure.” “Let us look, then,” said the count, as he opened the letter again. “Ah! you are right,” he said opening the paper which he had not yet read. “I suspected it,” he continued--“another application for an appointment under Monsieur. This Manicamp is a regular vampire:--he is carrying on a trade in it.” “No, monsieur le comte, he wishes to make a present of it.” “To whom?” “To myself, monsieur.” “Why did you not say so at once, my dear M. Mauvaisecorne?” “Malicorne, monsieur le comte.”