"All that you have told me is so astounding--it has excited me too much.--I am afraid that I am going to be ill, baron; this is contrary to all my habits." "You will resume them again, _belle dame_; after all, no matter what happens, it seems to me that it is a matter of indifference to us. So much the worse for people who make fools of themselves! The idea of marrying a woman whom you leave on your wedding day and whom you refuse to see again! I declare that, had I been in the count's place, I would have fought a hundred times rather than enter into such an absurd alliance!" "You would have done well, baron; you would have done very well! Ah! you do not belie your blood!" "What the devil! one is a gentleman or one is not; I know no other distinction!--But I must leave you, mesdames; receive my respects. I confess that I am in haste to go to several other houses to tell the story of the Comte de Marvejols's extraordinary marriage." "I can understand that. Go, Baron de Germandré, go; we will detain you no longer." The old baron took his leave. Madame de Ravenelle glanced at her niece; Valentine simply said, in a curt tone: "Well, madame! you see that I heard aright, do you not?" The old lady made no reply; but, after so severe a shock, after such an excess of fatiguing emotion, it was plain that she wished to enjoy a little repose, for she stretched herself out on her couch as she did when she proposed to sleep. Thereupon Valentine at once left the salon and went to her own apartment. "Send Miretta to me!" she said to a servant whom she met; then, having no longer any motive for concealing her feelings, she abandoned herself to chagrin, wrath, mortification; she tore whatever was within reach of her hand; she spurned and broke everything that came in her way. Miretta soon appeared before her mistress. For some time past, Miretta had been sad and pensive. Wherever she might be, her brow was pale and anxious, and her eyes expressed grief and discouragement; she was no longer the pretty and piquant brunette who fascinated all eyes. Grief soon works havoc with beauty. "Mademoiselle sent for me, and I am here," she said in a low tone, bending her head before her mistress. "Yes, come in; close that door, so that I may speak, so that I may at last give full vent to my feelings, without constraint." "Mademoiselle is much agitated! Has anything happened to grieve her?"