Monsieur de Grandvilain had known Mademoiselle Aménaïde Dufoureau in 1798. At that time she was only twenty-four years old; it is to be presumed that her heart was at least as fresh as at forty-four; and it is certain that her face was more so. At that time Aménaïde was a very pretty young woman, slender, graceful and ethereal; her black eyes, level with her face, gleamed with health and animation; her mouth, which was a little large, laughed frequently to display a double row of faultless teeth; and although her nose was a little coarse, her forehead a little low, and her complexion a little dark, Mademoiselle Dufoureau might have passed for a very attractive person. Monsieur de Grandvilain, who was forty-nine at that time, and considered himself still a young man, because he had retained the tastes and the temperament of a young man, had met Aménaïde in society and had paid court to her; but with the frivolity of a man accustomed to making conquests, with the self-assurance of a rake who had never found women cruel, and with the fatuity of a marquis, who thought that he bestowed much honor upon a young woman of the middle class by allowing his eyes to rest upon her. Mademoiselle Dufoureau was, in fact, only a simple bourgeoise; her parents, worthy tradespeople, had died, leaving her fifteen hundred francs a year and excellent principles. The fifteen hundred francs a year was but a slender fortune; but combined with the young lady’s virtue and innocence, it formed a marriage portion which some very wealthy young women would be sorely at a loss to offer their husbands. Monsieur de Grandvilain, still proud and magnificent, fluttered about that flower of twenty-four years. Mademoiselle Aménaïde found monsieur le marquis very agreeable; she was flattered to be noticed by him; and she even allowed him to see that her heart was not indifferent to his homage. But when she discovered that Monsieur de Grandvilain had no idea of making her a marchioness, she proudly repulsed him, saying: “For what do you take me, monsieur?” The marquis, offended by her resistance, turned on his heel, humming a tune from _Blaise et Babet_, an opera-comique, then in great vogue; the operas of those days abounded in tunes which were easily remembered, and were sung and whistled on the streets. Other times, other music! Monsieur de Grandvilain carried elsewhere his glances, his passions, his homage and his heart. Mademoiselle Aménaïde Dufoureau concealed in the depths of her heart her regrets, her sighs, and her ardor.