“Never, my dear Baroness!--never!” he replied, with emphasis. “I am capable of many things, but not of that most arrant stupidity! Were I to marry, my work would be ruined--I should become immersed in the domesticities of the kitchen and the nursery, living my life at no higher grade than the life of the farmyard or rabbit-warren. In my opinion, marriage is a mistake,--but we must not argue such a point in the presence of a happily married couple like yourself and the Baron. Look at our excellent friend, Chauvet! He has never married.” “Thank God!” ejaculated the Professor, devoutly,--while everybody laughed. “Ah, you may laugh! But it is I who laugh last! When I see the unfortunate husband going out for a slow walk with his wife and three or four screaming, jumping children, who behave like savages, not knowing what they want or where they wish to go, I bless my happy fate that I can do my ten miles a day alone, revelling in the beauty of the mountains and lakes, and enjoying my own thoughts in peace. Like Amriel, I have not married because I am afraid of disillusion!” “But have you thought of the possible woman in the case?” asked Diana, sweetly and suddenly. “Might she not also suffer from ‘disillusion’ if you were her husband?” Laughter again rang round the table,--the Professor rose, glass of wine in hand, and made Diana a solemn bow. “Madame, I stand reproved!” he said. “And I drink to your health and to England, your native country! And in reply to your question, I am honest enough to say that I think any woman who had been so unfortunate as to marry me, would have put herself out of her misery a month after the wedding!” Renewed merriment rewarded this _amende honorable_ on the part of Chauvet, who sat down well pleased with himself--and well pleased, too, with Diana, whom he considered quick-witted and clever, and whose smile when he had made his little speech had quite won him over. Madame Dimitrius, chiefly intent on the hospitable cares of the table, had listened to all the conversation with an old lady’s placid enjoyment, only putting in a word now and then, and smiling with affectionate encouragement at Diana, and dessert being presently served, and cigars and cigarettes handed round by the negro, Vasho, who was the sole attendant, she gave the signal for the ladies to retire. “You do not smoke?” said the Marchese Farnese, as Diana moved from her place. “No, indeed!” “You dislike it?” “For women,--yes.” “Then you are old-fashioned!” he commented, playfully. “Yes. And I am very glad of it!” she answered, quietly, and followed Madame Dimitrius and the Baroness Rousillon out of the room. As she passed Dimitrius, who held open the door for their exit, he said a few low-toned words in Russian which owing to her own study of the language she understood. They were: “Excellent! You have kept your own counsel and mine, most admirably! I thank you with all my heart!” CHAPTER X