I was sufficiently compensated and magnetized by the air of confiding intimacy that this charming woman assumed towards me to recover my ordinary gayety, and I endeavored, during my meal to recall, little by little, the wonderful things that had been revealed to me. Above all I predicted through the green ladies, a long life to the dowager. “And my asthma, monsieur?” said she, “did they tell you that I would be cured of my asthma?” “Not exactly; but they spoke of long life, fortune and health.” “Well, indeed; I ask nothing further of the good God.” “Now, my child,” said she to her daughter-in-law, “you who tell a story so well, relate to this good young man the cause of his dreams, and tell him the history of the three young ladies of Ionis.” I assumed an air of surprise, Madame d’Ionis asked permission to give me the manuscript, that she had only prepared, she said, in order to dispense with going over the same story so often. Breakfast being over, the dowager went to take her siesta. “It is too warm to go in the garden at noon,” said Madame d’Ionis, “and still I do not wish you to work at that horrid law suit just after leaving the table. So if you care to visit the interior of the castle, which is quite interesting, I will act as your guide.” “To accept your proposition is indiscreet and presumptuous,” I answered, “and yet I am dying to do so.” “Well, don’t die, but come on,” said she, with adorable gayety. But she added immediately, and quite naturally: “Come with us, my good Zéphyrine; you will open the doors for us.” An hour before, the addition of Zéphyrine would have been very agreeable to me, but I no longer felt so timid in Madame d’Ionis’ society, and I confess that the presence of a third person annoyed me. I certainly had no sort of presumption, no impertinent ideas; but it seemed to me that I could have talked more sensibly and agreeably in a _tête-à-tête_. The presence of this full moon blunted my ideas, and impeded the flight of my imagination. And then Zéphyrine was thinking of the thing, that I, most naturally, would gladly have forgotten. “You see now, Madame Caroline,” said she to Madame d’Ionis, while crossing the gallery on the ground floor, “there is nothing at all in the green ladies’ room; M. Nivières has slept there undisturbed.” “Well, dear me! My good creature, I don’t doubt it,” answered the young woman. “M. Nivières doesn’t impress me as a fool but that doesn’t hinder me from believing that the abbé Lamyre _did_ see something there.” “Indeed,” said I, with some emotion, “I have occasionally had the honor of seeing Monsieur de Lamyre, and I should have thought him no more of a fool than myself.” “He is not a fool, sir,” replied Zéphyrine, “he is fond of a joke which gives a serious tone to his jests.”