"I do not understand you, sir," said M. de Montbrison, more and more astonished. "I will tell you, Conrad, why you cannot accept the offer that is made you," said Clotilde. "And why, Madame la Duchesse, cannot the duke accept my offer?" "My dear Conrad, what is offered you for sale is already sold to others. So, you understand, you would have the inconvenience of being robbed just as if you were in a wood." Florestan bit his lips with rage. "Take care, madame!" he cried. "What, threats! and here, sir?" exclaimed Conrad. "Pooh, pooh! Conrad, pay no attention," said Madame de Lucenay, taking a lozenge from a sweetmeat box with the utmost composure; "a man of honour ought not and cannot have any future communication with that person. If he likes, I will tell you why." A tremendous explosion would no doubt have occurred, when the two folding-doors again opened, and the Duc de Lucenay entered, noisily, violently, hurriedly, as was "his usual custom in the afternoon," as well as the forenoon. "Ah, my dear! What, dressed already?" said he to his wife. "Why, how surprising! Quite astonishing! Good evening, Saint-Remy; good evening, Conrad. Ah, you see the most miserable of men; that is to say, I neither sleep nor eat, but am completely 'done up.' Can't reconcile myself to it. Poor D'Harville, what an event!" And M. de Lucenay threw himself back in a sort of small sofa with two backs, and, crossing his left knee over his right, took his foot in his hand, whilst he continued to utter the most distressing exclamations. The excitement of Conrad and Florestan had time to calm down, without being perceived by M. de Lucenay, who was the least clear-sighted man in the world. Madame de Lucenay, not from embarrassment, for she was never embarrassed, as we know, but because Florestan's presence was as disgusting as it was insupportable, said to the duke: "We are ready to go as soon as you please. I am going to introduce Conrad to Madame de Senneval." "No, no, no!" cried the duke, letting go his foot to seize one of the cushions, on which he struck violently with his two fists, to the great alarm of Clotilde, who, at the sudden cries of her husband, started from her chair. "Monsieur, what ails you?" she inquired; "you frighten me exceedingly." "No," replied the duke, thrusting the cushion from him, rising suddenly, and walking up and down with rapid strides and gesticulations, "I cannot get over the idea of the death of poor dear D'Harville; can you, Saint-Remy?" "Indeed, it was a frightful event!" said the vicomte, who, with hatred and rage in his heart, kept his eye on M. de Montbrison; but this latter, after the last words of his cousin, turned away from a man so deeply degraded, not from want of feeling, but from pride. "For goodness' sake, my lord," said the duchess to her husband, "do not regret the loss of M. d'Harville in so noisy and really so singular a manner. Ring, if you please for my carriage."