Madame Fleury improved her opportunity. She drew closer to Monsieur Duval, and from tapping his hand gently with her card-case soon grew to letting her hand rest on his, while she poured into his ears the story of her alleged engagement to Fontaine. According to her account, Fontaine had pursued her, and by his importunity had made her consent to an engagement, which he now refused to fulfil. Her desire for a settlement of the question was simply to avoid scandal; and she dwelt so upon the impossibility of her feeling any affection for so young a man as Fontaine, and the chance she sacrificed of meeting a man old enough to please her, that old Duval began seriously to fear that his own age--sixty-seven--was callow and immature. After fifteen minutes of this had gone on, Marsac turned round and glanced at the pair. It was still light enough to see. Madame Fleury had reached the weeping stage. Her left hand pressed a handkerchief to her eyes, while Monsieur Duval patting her right was saying tenderly,-- “There, there, don’t cry.” [Illustration] “Ah, if one has a heart, one must suffer,” murmured Madame Fleury, with a beautiful little sob, and pressing a lace-trimmed handkerchief to her eyes. “And I have a heart too impulsive, a nature too unsophisticated.” “I see it, I know it,” was old Duval’s fervent answer. “It is that charming simplicity, that inability to take care of your dear little self, that wins upon me.” “I am so weak,” whispered Madame Fleury, squeezing his hand. “Pray, forgive me. You are so good--I know you are so good.” “Yes, yes, I’ll forgive you,” Marsac heard old Duval answer, although what he was forgiving her he could not have told to save his life; “and it is a thousand shames that any man should cause that innocent little heart of yours to ache. Now, wouldn’t it be better for all parties if you and Fontaine could separate amicably? And then you might find some other man that you could love.” Old Duval, at this, stuck his head sentimentally on one side. “A mature man, Monsieur Duval,” said Madame Fleury, wiping her eyes. “I have had enough of young men. It is impossible for me to feel a passionate regard for any man under sixty-five, at the least.” At this, old Duval assumed a seraphic air, which fairly made Marsac, who could see it all, perfectly ill with disgust. Nevertheless, knowing that Madame Fleury and her victim both wished him out of the way, he continued to stand his ground stoutly, walking up and down and whistling loudly and contemptuously, as their voices sank to the sentimental pitch. Presently he saw Madame Fleury take carefully out of her card-case a folded slip of paper, which she read in a low voice to the old brewer. Marsac’s heart jumped into his mouth at the thought that it was the marriage contract she was reading.