was conscious of a ringing in her ears, darkness seemed to
spread before her, and then she suddenly exclaimed in icy tones:--

"Ah! it is Wednesday!"

"I do not say this to flatter your passing caprice, mademoiselle," said
the duke, to whom the little scene, so tragical for Modeste, had left
time for thought; "but I declare I am so profoundly disgusted with the
world and the Court and Paris that had I a Duchesse d'Herouville, gifted
with the wit and graces of mademoiselle, I would gladly bind myself to
live like a philosopher at my chateau, doing good around me, draining my
marshes, educating my children--"

"That, Monsieur le duc, will be set to the account of your great
goodness," said Modeste, letting her eyes rest steadily on the noble
gentleman. "You flatter me in not thinking me frivolous, and in
believing that I have enough resources within myself to be able to live
in solitude. It is perhaps my lot," she added, glancing at Canalis, with
an expression of pity.

"It is the lot of all insignificant fortunes," said the poet. "Paris
demands Babylonian splendor. Sometimes I ask myself how I have ever
managed to keep it up."

"The king does that for both of us," said the duke, candidly; "we live
on his Majesty's bounty. If my family had not been allowed, after the
death of Monsieur le Grand, as they call Cinq-Mars, to keep his office
among us, we should have been obliged to sell Herouville to the Black
Brethren. Ah, believe me, mademoiselle, it is a bitter humiliation to me
to have to think of money in marrying."

The simple honesty of this confession came from his heart, and the
regret was so sincere that it touched Modeste.

"In these days," said the poet, "no man in France, Monsieur le duc, is
rich enough to marry a woman for herself, her personal worth, her grace,
or her beauty--"

The colonel looked at Canalis with a curious eye, after first watching
Modeste, whose face no longer expressed the slightest astonishment.

"For persons of high honor," he said slowly, "it is a noble employment
of wealth to repair the ravages of time and destiny, and restore the old
historic families."

"Yes, papa," said Modeste, gravely.

The colonel invited the duke and Canalis to dine with him sociably
in their riding-dress, promising them to make no change himself.
When Modeste went to her room to make her toilette, she looked at the
jewelled whip she had disdained in the morning.

"What workmanship they put into such