M. Dulaurens had learnt through his home life to appreciate the force of aristocratic prejudice. His newly acquired royalism was extreme and uncompromising. All titles dazzled him, even those distributed by the cynical republic of San Marino in return for cash; but even to these latter, in his humility, he did not dare to aspire. This deferential attitude did not entirely console Madame Dulaurens for having married beneath her; but at least she could thus gratify her taste for ruling. Even as she ruled her husband and her household, so too she ruled her children, and more especially Alice. She belonged to that order of mothers who confuse their own happiness with that of their daughters, and are quite sincere in thinking that they are working for the latter when in reality they are working only for the former. Her maternal affection was of the absorbing character of passion itself and satisfied the lack in her life which marriage had been unable to supply. That morning she was carefully mapping out the future of Alice, to whom she had, just as a matter of form, submitted M. de Marthenay’s proposal. But above all she was taken up with the luncheon party which she was giving in honor of Isabelle Orlandi’s engagement. She got up abruptly from her armchair every now and then to give some order. In the process she forgot to notice Alice or to obtain her consent. She was like one of those conquerors who cannot conceive of any obstacle to their plans. Her treatment, indeed, of the eminently serious subject was somewhat free and easy--for she had long had it in mind, and looked upon it already as one of those family compacts which are natural and, so to speak, inevitable. Coming back for the third time from the kitchen, which she did deign to visit, she enumerated all the advantages of this match. “His is a very old and perfectly genuine title. Good connections. Not much money certainly, but our aristocrats are not shop-keepers. And Armand is very good-looking.” There was a knock at the door, and the frightened butler came in with uplifted hands. “Madame, I am sorry to have to tell Madame that the ice cream is not hardening in the freezer!” “Put more ice and some more salt into it then,” said Madame Dulaurens shortly, continuing as soon as the door was shut: “And then, my dear girl, I shall be able to keep you near me. You know, I absolutely insisted on that. I made that an essential condition of your acceptance. Armand has promised me never to leave Chambéry. If some day he is appointed to another place, he would give up his post and that would settle it. He has agreed to that, so we shall never be separated.” She was prepared to give way to tears at this juncture, when there was another knock. “Come in,” she said impatiently. It was the gardener bringing in flowers for the table, to receive her compliments.