"Why, no; after all, it is, as you say, but a single _fete_, and then extinguish the lights, and lock the doors, and so the Chateau des Anges becomes as sober as before." "And I wager a hundred crowns you will tell Madame Le Prun that you have given this _fete_ entirely on _her_ account." "I thought of that," he replied, with a grin; "but it would not be wise." "Why so?" "Because it would make a precedent." "And will you never again indulge her fancy for society?" "By ---- my good friend, _never_. She fancies she has a great deal of spirit, and will contrive to rule me; but she does not know Etienne Le Prun--she does not know him--I will treat her like what she is--a child." "And she will treat you, perhaps, like----" "Like what?" "Like what you are--a bridegroom of seventy." "If she dares. Ay, Blassemare, I have just as little trust as you in what conventionality calls the _virtue_ of the sex. I rely upon my own strong will--the discipline I can put in force, and their salutary fears." There was here a pause of more than a minute in the dialogue; each appeared to have enough to think of, and the carriage was driving nearly at a gallop under the funereal shadow of the dense and lofty trees. With a fierce start, Monsieur Le Prun cried, suddenly-- "What do you mean?" "_I?_--nothing." "Why do you say _that_?" "What?" "You said--Bluebeard." "Hey?" "Ay!--what the devil did you mean by that?" "Upon my soul, I said no such thing," said Blassemare, with a hollow, satirical laugh. Monsieur Le Prun glanced over his shoulder once or twice, and then hummed to himself for a time. "Seriously," he repeated, "did you not call me by that name?" "_I!_--no; I always call things by their name, and yours is gray." "Hem!--what is he driving in this shadow for? Tell him to keep in the moonlight--one would think he wanted to break our necks." Monsieur Le Prun, it was evident, had become fidgety and fanciful. A few minutes' rapid driving brought the carriage to the hall-door of the chateau, and its wealthy, but, perhaps, after all, not very much to be envied, master conducted his familiar imp, Blassemare, into a saloon, where supper awaited them. "I don't myself understand these things, Blassemare, but you will be my stage-manager, and get up the spectacle in the best style." "Why, yes. I don't see why I should not lend a hand, that is to say, if nothing happens to call me away," said Blassemare, who delighted in such affairs, but liked a little importance also. "How soon is it to take place?" "She said in about three weeks." "Ha! very good." And the Count de Blassemare was instantaneously translated, in spirit, among feu d'artifice, water-works, arches, colored lamps, bands, and all the other splendors and delectations of an elaborate fete.