he
had been listened to were prolonged after he had ceased to speak. This
appeared to embarrass him, but taking the arm of Camors he said, with
a smile, "'Semel insanivimus omnes.' My dear sir, every one has his
madness. I trust that mine has not offended you. Well, then, prove it
to me by accompanying me on the piano in this song of the sixteenth
century."

Camors complied with his usual good taste; and the song of the sixteenth
century terminated the evening's entertainment; but the young Count,
before leaving, found the means of causing Madame de Tecle the most
profound astonishment. He asked her, in a low voice, and with peculiar
emphasis, whether she would be kind enough, at her leisure, to grant him
the honor of a moment's private conversation.

Madame de Tecle opened still wider those large eyes of hers, blushed
slightly, and replied that she would be at home the next afternoon at
four o'clock.

BOOK 2.

CHAPTER IX. LOVE CONQUERS PHILOSOPHY

To M. de Camors, in principle it was a matter of perfect indifference
whether France was centralized or decentralized. But his Parisian
instinct induced him to prefer the former. In spite of this preference,
he would not have scrupled to adopt the opinions of M. des Rameures, had
not his own fine tact shown him that the proud old gentleman was not to
be won by submission.

He therefore reserved for him the triumph of his gradual conversion.
Be that as it might, it was neither of centralization nor of
decentralization that the young Count proposed to speak to Madame de
Tecle, when, at the appointed hour, he presented himself before her.
He found her in the garden, which, like the house, was of an ancient,
severe, and monastic style. A terrace planted with limetrees extended
on one side of the garden. It was at this spot that Madame de Tecle was
seated under a group of lime-trees, forming a rustic bower.

She was fond of this place, because it recalled to her that evening when
her unexpected apparition had suddenly inspired with a celestial joy the
pale, disfigured face of her betrothed.

She was seated on a low chair beside a small rustic table, covered with
pieces of wool and silk; her feet rested on a stool, and she worked on a
piece of tapestry, apparently with great tranquillity.

M. de Camors, an expert in all the niceties and exquisite devices of the
feminine mind, smiled to himself at this audience in the open air. He
thought he fathomed its mea