The opposition the marquis was made to feel produced the usual effect of such obstacles on all young men. Though he had, apparently, treated Mademoiselle de Verneuil rather lightly, and left it to be supposed that his passion for her was a mere caprice, he now, from a feeling of pride, made immense strides in his relation to her. By openly protecting her, his honor became concerned in compelling respect to her person; and he went from group to group assuring his friends, in the tone of a man whom it was dangerous to contradict, that the lady was really Mademoiselle de Verneuil. The doubts and gossip ceased at once. As soon as Montauran felt that harmony was restored and anxiety allayed, he returned to his mistress eagerly, saying in a low voice:-- “Those mischievous people have robbed me of an hour’s happiness.” “I am glad you have come back to me,” she said, smiling. “I warn you that I am inquisitive; therefore you must not get tired of my questions. Tell me, in the first place, who is that worthy in a green cloth jacket?” “That is the famous Major Brigaut, a man from the Marais, a comrade of the late Mercier, called La Vendee.” “And that fat priest with the red face to whom he is talking at this moment about me?” she went on. “Do you want to know what they are saying?” “Do I want to know it? What a useless question!” “But I could not tell it without offending you.” “If you allow me to be insulted in your house without avenging me, marquis, adieu!” she said. “I will not stay another moment. I have some qualms already about deceiving these poor Republicans, loyal and confiding as they are!” She made a few hasty steps; the marquis followed her. “Dear Marie, listen to me. On my honor, I have silenced their evil speaking, without knowing whether it was false or true. But, placed as I am, if friends whom we have in all the ministries in Paris warn me to beware of every woman I meet, and assure me that Fouche has employed against me a Judith of the streets, it is not unnatural that my best friends here should think you too beautiful to be an honest woman.” As he spoke the marquis plunged a glance into Mademoiselle de Verneuil’s eyes. She colored, and was unable to restrain her tears. “I deserve these insults,” she said. “I wish you really thought me that despicable creature and still loved me; then, indeed, I could no longer doubt you. I believed in you when you were deceiving me, and you will not believe me now when I am true. Let us make an end of this, monsieur,” she said, frowning, but turning pale as death,--“adieu!” She rushed towards the dining-room with a movement of despair. “Marie, my life is yours,” said the young marquis in her ear. She stopped short and looked at him. “No, no,” she said, “I will be generous. Farewell. In coming with you here I did not think of my past nor of your future--I was beside myself.” “You cannot mean that you will leave me now when I offer you my life?”