"Oh! I know that; I know where Miretta is at this moment; I even know why she has come to Paris. I am perfectly informed--but upon this matter you will allow me to keep silent. The little one is too dainty a morsel for me to show her nest to other men, and I am sure that you will consider that I am right to act thus." The foreigner rose and bowed to the Gascon. "Good luck in your love affairs, Chevalier Passedix!" "Infinitely obliged! Much pleasure in your nocturnal walks, monsieur le comte!" The foreigner took his leave. The landlady renewed her humble reverences, and Passedix muttered: "A singular man, this Monsieur de Carvajal!" "You are all sewed up, monsieur," said Popelinette; "but, bless me! I won't swear it will hold long, the stuff is so rotten!" "Very good! all right! I didn't ask you about that!--He buys paint, _mouches_, perfumes!--he's an effeminate creature!" "I don't think," said the little hostess, "that it is so unpleasant to perfume one's self, and to leave an agreeable odor behind one as one passes!" "I have never needed that to please the fair! And when I eat wild duck, I don't like to have it smell of musk!" The Gascon hurried from the room and went up to his fifth floor, while Dame Cadichard exclaimed: "Ah! if I only had a loft over his room!" Popelinette put away her needle and thread, muttering: "Oh, no! he doesn't smell of musk, that fellow! he doesn't need to deny it!" XII VALENTINE DE MONGARCIN Let us transport ourselves to Rue Saint-Honoré, to the interior of a magnificent mansion, where everything is eloquent of wealth, splendor, and refinement, where the furniture and hangings represent all that is most beautiful and dainty in the products of that age. There we shall find Madame de Ravenelle and her niece, Valentine de Mongarcin. Madame de Ravenelle was seventy-two years of age; she had once been pretty, she was still fresh and plump; for the anxieties, the cares, the griefs, which often make one old much more rapidly than time, had never darkened her life, which had flowed on as placidly and gently as the waters of a stream hidden by tall grasses and never disturbed by the traveller's oar. The old lady, blessed with a cheerful, heedless, and, above all, selfish disposition, had known how to submit philosophically to those petty disagreements from which no one is wholly exempt throughout the course of a long life. Having an excellent stomach, and very little susceptibility, she always sat down at the table with a good appetite, and never had recourse to the doctors. Incapable of doing anything unkind or spiteful, which would have disturbed the harmony of her temperament, she listened without emotion to the tale of another person's woes; and yet, she was quite ready to be humane, and often did a kind deed, when it was not likely to cause her either fatigue or trouble.