To me he was certainly as kind as he could be; but still there was a difference there also. He often spoke to me gently, even affectionately, of my circumstances and my future prospects; treated me in most respects as his son; made me dine with himself and Madame de Villardin; but he never referred to the events which had taken place at the Prés Vallée. I saw, too, that, on the excuse of not looking upon me any longer in the light of a page, but rather as one of his own family, the familiar intercourse which I had held with him was in a great degree denied to myself and permitted to another; and that Gaspard de Belleville was closeted with him for hours every day. Of course, this did not please me; for although I trusted to my own conduct to maintain the good opinion of the Duke, yet, with the common weakness of human nature, I did not like that his confidence should be given to another, though it had often been painful to myself. I knew very well that my behaviour, though it might not have gratified his jealousy by admitting suspicions I believed to be false, would command his esteem more than that of Gaspard, who, probably, was more complacent--but who is there so strong and philosophic in heart, as to value esteem more than affection? I saw clearly, and I saw it with regret, that Monsieur de Villardin's love was likely to be given to him who pampered the weakness under which he laboured, rather than to him who tried to clear away suspicions, which, however detrimental to himself, were too firmly rooted to be eradicated without pain. As some compensation, however, I found that my place in the regard of the Duchess was becoming higher each day; and as Monsieur de Villardin, on his arrival at Dumont, had desired me to attend upon her in her walks and drives, not as a page, but as her companion,--I was but fourteen, be it remembered,--and as her guard in case of danger, I had continually the means of cultivating her good opinion. Her spirits by this time were so depressed, that all the gay levity of manner which I had formerly remarked, was gone; and, grave, sad, and thoughtful, she took her daily walk through the park, accompanied by myself and her little girl; sometimes endeavouring to amuse herself by talking to me of England, and of the scenes that I had gone through--sometimes moved to a smile at my boyish pranks with the beautiful child that ran on beside us--but still relapsing into melancholy the moment that the evanescent light was gone. Never by any chance did she refer to her husband's behaviour towards her; though once, when she seemed more than usually depressed, her words and her manner made me think she was going to do so.