ine a husband," cried
Canalis, laughing.

Modeste smiled as Henri IV. must have smiled after drawing out the
characters of his three principal ministers, for the benefit of a
foreign ambassador, by means of three answers to an insidious question.

On the day of the dinner, Modeste, led away by the preference she
bestowed on Canalis, walked alone with him up and down the gravelled
space which lay between the house and the lawn with its flower-beds.
From the gestures of the poet, and the air and manner of the young
heiress, it was easy to see that she was listening favorably to him.
The two demoiselles d'Herouville hastened to interrupt the scandalous
tete-a-tete; and with the natural cleverness of women under such
circumstances, they turned the conversation on the court, and the
distinction of an appointment under the crown,--pointing out the
difference that existed between appointments in the household of the
king and those of the crown. They tried to intoxicate Modeste's mind by
appealing to her pride, and describing one of the highest stations to
which a woman could aspire.

"To have a duke for a son," said the elder lady, "is an actual
advantage. The title is a fortune that we secure to our children without
the possibility of loss."

"How is it, then," said Canalis, displeased at his tete-a-tete being
thus broken in upon, "that Monsieur le duc has had so little success in
a matter where his title would seem to be of special service to him?"

The two ladies cast a look at Canalis as full of venom as the tooth of a
snake, and they were so disconcerted by Modeste's amused smile that they
were actually unable to reply.

"Monsieur le duc has never blamed you," she said to Canalis, "for the
humility with which you bear your fame; why should you attack him for
his modesty?"

"Besides, we have never yet met a woman worthy of my nephew's rank,"
said Mademoiselle d'Herouville. "Some had only the wealth of the
position; others, without fortune, had the wit and birth. I must admit
that we have done well to wait till God granted us an opportunity to
meet one in whom we find the noble blood, the mind, and fortune of a
Duchesse d'Herouville."

"My dear Modeste," said Helene d'Herouville, leading her new friend
apart, "there are a thousand barons in the kingdom, just as there are a
hundred poets in Paris, who are worth as much as he; he is so little of
a great man that even I, a poor girl forced to take the veil for want