ike him, I know--sapristi, it is an advantage. But I am a better
match in one way, madame. I have never been married. I have no wife to
get rid of, before offering myself to Mademoiselle de Sainfoy. She looks
like a good girl, and she is devilish pretty. I dare say she will do
what she likes with me. Anyhow, it is a good marriage for her, and for
me. I am well off, I shall not expect much money."

In Adelaide de Sainfoy's heart there was amazement at herself for having
listened even so long and so patiently. This was indeed a trial of her
theories. But after all, common sense was stronger than sentiment.

"We must live in our own times," she reminded herself. "These are the
people of the future; the past is dead."

Her eyes wandered round the room. Every man she saw there was a
gentleman, with ancestors, with manners, with traditions. Whether they
were returned emigrants or people who had by _force majeure_ accepted
the Revolution and the Empire, all bore the stamp of that old world
which they alone kept in memory. Differences of dress, a new simplicity,
ease and freedom, a revolt against formalities, these things made a
certain separation between the new country society and the old. But
gentlemen and ladies all her guests were, except the man who sat beside
her and asked for Helene as coolly as if he were asking for one of her
dog's puppies.

Yet Madame de Sainfoy repeated to herself, "The past is dead!"

"You do us great honour," she repeated; for so strong-minded a person,
the tone and words were vague.

"That is precisely what you do not think, madame," said Ratoneau,
looking her straight in the face with a not unpleasant smile.

She was very conscious of the resolute will, the power to command, which
the man possessed in common with his master. Who could refuse Napoleon
anything? except a man or woman here and there with whom the repulsion
was stronger than the attraction. Adelaide de Sainfoy was not one of
these.

"You are mistaken; I do," she said, and smiled back with all her
brilliancy.

"It is true," he said, "I am not yet a Duke, or a Marshal of France,
like the others. I have had enemies--envious people: my very wounds,
marks of honour, have come between me and glory. But next year, madame,
when I have swept the Chouans out of the West, you will see. I have a
friend at Court, now, besides. One of the Empress's equerries, Monsieur
Monge, is an old brother-in-arms of mine. The Emperor has ennobled hi