Chérubin reached home at last cursing the plums and the ill-fortune which seemed to pursue him in his love-affairs. Toward evening Monfréville called upon his friend; he was curious to know if he acquitted himself more creditably at his last assignation than at the first. When he saw the young marquis, still pale and exhausted, he smiled and said: “I see that your good fortune was complete this time, and that you won a grand victory.” Chérubin looked at his friend with such a piteous expression that he did not know what to think. After carefully closing the door of his apartment, Chérubin told Monfréville what had happened in his second amorous tête-à-tête. Monfréville could not keep a sober face as he listened to the story; and although Chérubin did not share his merriment, it was a long time before he could restrain it. “So you consider it very amusing, do you?” said Chérubin, with a sigh. “Faith, my dear fellow, it is very hard not to laugh at the plight in which you found yourself.” “Agree that I am very unlucky.” “It is your own fault. When you breakfast tête-à-tête with a lady, you should not stuff yourself with plums, especially after you have already eaten heartily, as you seem to have done.” “I did it to give myself courage, nerve!” “What you did give yourself was very agreeable.” “Well, no such accident will happen in my next tête-à-tête with Madame Célival; I shall have better luck next time.” “Oh! don’t flatter yourself that you will obtain a second assignation from the fair widow. You are ruined in her esteem, as well as in the little countess’s. That makes another conquest that you must abandon.” “Do you think so? How unfair! Does a woman cease to love us because we are suddenly taken ill?” “Not for that reason, but because you behaved so clumsily.” “What would you have done in my place?” “I would have said frankly that my breakfast was disturbing me, that I was feeling very sick; then she would have understood and excused my departure.” “Oh! I would have died of shame rather than say that!” “That is very poor reasoning, my dear fellow; remember that a woman will forgive everything except contempt or indifference to her charms.” Chérubin was very much cast down during the rest of the day; it seemed to him that there was a sort of fatality about his love-affairs, and he was afraid that it would continue to pursue him. But that same evening Daréna came to his house, to apprise him of the results of his negotiations with the charming woman he had seen at the Cirque. “Victory!” cried Daréna, bringing his hand down on the young marquis’s shoulder; “it’s going on finely, my friend; your business is in good shape.” “Well, have you obtained an appointment for me?” inquired Chérubin, with an almost frightened expression. “Deuce take it! not yet; such things don’t go so fast as you think; the young Polish countess is closely watched, surrounded by duennas and Cerberuses.” “Is she a Polish countess?”