Presently, mademoiselle, the chevalier, and the abbé found themselves sitting round a table in the small sanctum the latter had made his own--a cosy little chamber, panelled in dark oak with heavy double-doors--and the host took up his parable and spake, "Mademoiselle Brunelle is probably aware," he began, in his low sweet voice, "that she was not summoned here for her charming society alone. We have long known each other's views and wishes, and have arrived at a consciousness that without mutual assistance our desires are unattainable. Fortunately they do not clash; on the contrary, although different, they run amicably side by side. So fortunate! It will be best, will it not, if I review them? "Mademoiselle Brunelle has developed a fancy to wear a coronet. The said coronet would prove a paltry bauble unless handsomely gilt and jewelled. The gold and jewels are unluckily in possession of a lady who at present holds the coronet, and who has no intention of resigning either the one or the other. She must be made to give up both--how?" There was a pause, during which the chevalier blinked uneasily. The abbé had succeeded in drawing one brother at least well under his thumb. Like a hound, poor sodden Phebus gazed constantly into the eyes of Pharamond, seeking his orders there. There was a germ of an idea within the breast of each, which none cared to drag into the light. "Abbé," remarked mademoiselle, curtly. "As usual, you beat about the bush. There is none to overhear. What you would suggest, state plainly." "Am I not plain enough?" laughed Pharamond, lightly. "No," returned Aglaé, drawing down her brows in thought. "You say that our views run parallel. How can that be? You love that mawkish creature, and, for my part, as I have said before, you may wear her and welcome, though I don't admire your taste. I tried to assist you in the past, but--well--my efforts were not successful. How can I help you now, without injury to my own prospects? You are not so foolish as to suppose that I would accept Clovis without a sou, nor am I so silly as to imagine that you would take that chit without her fortune." "Mademoiselle sketches a situation with such brief lucidity, that it is a privilege to listen to her," replied Pharamond, with a tight twitch of his thin lips, that was intended for a smile. "But as there are blotches on the sun, so is not even she quite perfect. She forgets that the world is ever rolling, and that as we roll with it our views change and give place to others. She will remember, perhaps, that but for me she would still be an angel without the gate, and grant that I am not likely to employ the paw of one so clever, without sharing the chestnuts which she rescues." "A compromise, then?" said Aglaé. "I am still completely in the dark."