dvice. To go wrong at two-and-twenty means spoiling
your future; is it not tearing the gown you must wear? My dear, it is
not much later that we learn to go about in it without crumpling it. Go
on, sweetheart, making clever enemies, and friends who have no sense
of conduct, and you will see what a pleasant life you will some day be
leading!"

"Oh, madame, it is very hard for a woman to be happy, do not you think?"
the Countess eagerly exclaimed.

"My child, at your age you must learn to choose between pleasure and
happiness. You want to marry Martial, who is not fool enough to make a
good husband, nor passionate enough to remain a lover. He is in debt,
my dear; he is the man to run through your fortune; still, that would be
nothing if he could make you happy.--Do not you see how aged he is? The
man must have been ill; he is making the most of what is left him. In
three years he will be a wreck. Then he will be ambitious; perhaps he
may succeed. I do not think so.--What is he? A man of intrigue, who
may have the business faculty to perfection, and be able to gossip
agreeably; but he is too presumptuous to have any sterling merit; he
will not go far. Besides--only look at him. Is it not written on his
brow that, at this very moment, what he sees in you is not a young and
pretty woman, but the two million francs you possess? He does not love
you, my dear; he is reckoning you up as if you were an investment. If
you are bent on marrying, find an older man who has an assured position
and is half-way on his career. A widow's marriage ought not to be a
trivial love affair. Is a mouse to be caught a second time in the same
trap? A new alliance ought now to be a good speculation on your part,
and in marrying again you ought at least to have a hope of being some
day addressed as Madame la Marechale!"

As she spoke, both women naturally fixed their eyes on Colonel
Montcornet's handsome face.

"If you would rather play the delicate part of a flirt and not marry
again," the Duchess went on, with blunt good-nature; "well! my
poor child, you, better than any woman, will know how to raise the
storm-clouds and disperse them again. But, I beseech you, never make it
your pleasure to disturb the peace of families, to destroy unions, and
ruin the happiness of happy wives. I, my dear, have played that perilous
game. Dear heaven! for a triumph of vanity some poor virtuous soul is
murdered--for there really are virtuous women, child,--and w