“No, I am _not_ like all those depraved women. You do not know the world, and so you cannot know my worth. You shall know it now! There are women who sell themselves for money; there are others to be gained by gifts, it is a vile world! Oh, I wish I were a simple bourgeoise, a working girl, if you would rather have a woman beneath you than a woman whose devotion is accompanied by high rank, as men count it. Oh, my Armand, there are noble, high, and chaste and pure natures among us; and then they are lovely indeed. I would have all nobleness that I might offer it all up to you. Misfortune willed that I should be a duchess; I would I were a royal princess, that my offering might be complete. I would be a grisette for you, and a queen for everyone besides.” He listened, damping his cigars with his lips. “You will let me know when you wish to go,” he said. “But I should like to stay----” “That is another matter!” “Stay, that was badly rolled,” she cried, seizing on a cigar and devouring all that Armand’s lips had touched. “Do you smoke?” “Oh, what would I not do to please you?” “Very well. Go, madame.” “I will obey you,” she answered, with tears in her eyes. “You must be blindfolded; you must not see a glimpse of the way.” “I am ready, Armand,” she said, bandaging her eyes. “Can you see?” “No.” Noiselessly he knelt before her. “Ah! I can hear you!” she cried, with a little fond gesture, thinking that the pretence of harshness was over. He made as if he would kiss her lips; she held up her face. “You can see, madame.” “I am just a little bit curious.” “So you always deceive me?” “Ah! take off this handkerchief, sir,” she cried out, with the passion of a great generosity repelled with scorn, “lead me; I will not open my eyes.” Armand felt sure of her after that cry. He led the way; the Duchess nobly true to her word, was blind. But while Montriveau held her hand as a father might, and led her up and down flights of stairs, he was studying the throbbing pulses of this woman’s heart so suddenly invaded by Love. Mme de Langeais, rejoicing in this power of speech, was glad to let him know all; but he was inflexible; his hand was passive in reply to the questionings of her hand. At length, after some journey made together, Armand bade her go forward; the opening was doubtless narrow, for as she went she felt that his hand protected her dress. His care touched her; it was a revelation surely that there was a little love still left; yet it was in some sort a farewell, for Montriveau left her without a word. The air was warm; the Duchess, feeling the heat, opened her eyes, and found herself standing by the fire in the Comtesse de Serizy’s boudoir. She was alone. Her first thought was for her disordered toilette; in a moment she had adjusted her dress and restored her picturesque coiffure. “Well, dear Antoinette, we have been looking for you everywhere.” It was the Comtesse de Serizy who spoke as she opened the door.