“She’d be able to produce the fact that you had a little bookbinder staying for a month in your house.” “What has that to do with it?” she promptly asked. “If you mean that that’s a circumstance which would put me in the wrong as against the Prince, is there not on the other side this marked detail that while our young friend was staying with me Madame Grandoni herself, a person of the highest and most conspicuous respectability, never saw fit to withdraw from me her countenance and protection? Besides, why shouldn’t I have my bookbinder just as I might have—and the Prince should surely appreciate my consideration in not having—my physician and my chaplain?” “Am I not your chaplain?” Muniment again amusedly inquired. “And does the bookbinder usually dine at the Princess’s table?” “Why not—when he’s an artist? In the old times, I know, artists dined with the servants; but not to-day.” “That would be for the court to appreciate,” he said. And in a moment he added: “Allow me to call your attention to the fact that Madame Grandoni _has_ left you—_has_ withdrawn her countenance and protection.” “Ah but not for Hyacinth!” the Princess returned in a tone which would have made the fortune of an actress if an actress could have caught it. “For the bookbinder or for the chaplain, it doesn’t matter. But that’s only a detail. In any case,” he noted, “I shouldn’t in the least care for your going to law.” The Princess rested her eyes on him a while in silence and at last replied: “I was speaking just now of your great future, but every now and then you do something, you say something, that makes me really doubt you. It’s when you seem afraid. That’s terribly against your being a first-rate man.” “Ah I know you’ve thought me little better than a smooth sneak from the first of your knowing me. But what does it matter? I haven’t the smallest pretension to being a first-rate man.” “Oh you’re deep and you’re provoking!” she said with sombre eyes. “Don’t you remember,” he went on without heeding this rich comment, “don’t you remember how the other day you accused me of being not only a coward but a traitor; of playing false, of wanting, as you said, to back out?” “Most distinctly. How can I help its coming over me at times that you’ve incalculable ulterior views and are but consummately using me—but consummately using us all? Well, I don’t care!” “No, no; I’m genuine,” said Muniment simply, yet in a tone which might have implied that their discussion was idle. And he made a transition doubtless too abrupt for perfect civility. “The best reason in the world for your not going to law with your husband is this: that when you haven’t a penny left you’ll be obliged to go back and live with him.” “How do you mean, when I haven’t a penny left? Haven’t I my own property?” the Princess demanded.