“She is not worth insulting,” he said to himself. But, as lovers are beings who will not allow their foothold to be taken from them easily, the Provencal was neither convinced nor resigned as yet. Not far from the place which his countess had left, sat another woman, also alone; but this one was ripe with years, with feathers on her head, and beneath the folds of a cashmere shawl she concealed the plaintive remains of tarnished elegance and long past luxury. There was nothing imposing about this sight, nor did it command respect, but the contrary. La Peyrade went up to the woman without ceremony and addressed her. “Madame,” he said, “do you know that woman who has just gone away on the arm of a gentleman?” “Certainly, monsieur; I know nearly all the women who come here.” “And her name is?--” “Madame Komorn.” “Is she as impregnable as the fortress of that name?” Our readers will doubtless remember that at the time of the insurrection in Hungary our ears were battered by the press and by novelists about the famous citadel of Komorn; and la Peyrade knew that by assuming a tone of indifference or flippancy he was more likely to succeed with his inquiries. “Has monsieur any idea of making her acquaintance?” “I don’t know,” replied la Peyrade, “but she is a woman who makes people think of her.” “And a very dangerous woman, monsieur,” added his companion; “a fearful spendthrift, but with no inclination to return generously what is done for her. I can speak knowingly of that; when she first arrived here from Berlin, six months ago, she was very warmly recommended to me.” “Ah!” exclaimed la Peyrade. “Yes, at that time I had in the environs of Ville d’Avray a very beautiful place, with park and coverts and a stream for fishing; but as I was alone I found it dull, and several of these ladies and gentlemen said to me, ‘Madame Louchard, why don’t you organize parties in the style of picnics?’” “Madame Louchard!” repeated la Peyrade, “are you any relation to Monsieur Louchard of the commercial police?” “His wife, monsieur, but legally separated from him. A horrid man who wants me to go back to him; but I, though I’m ready to forgive most things, I can’t forgive a want of respect; just imagine that he dared to raise his hand against me!” “Well,” said la Peyrade, trying to bring her back to the matter in hand; “you organized those picnics, and Madame de Godo--I mean Madame Komorn--”