HIS whip, thinking it came from me," said the dwarf, indirectly pleading
La Briere's cause.

"Monsieur Butscha, may I ask if I am to marry to please you?" said
Modeste, laughing.

"That fine fellow loves you as well as I do,--and you loved him for
eight days," retorted Butscha; "and HE has got a heart."

"Can he compete, pray, with an office under the Crown? There are but
six, grand almoner, chancellor, grand chamberlain, grand master, high
constable, grand admiral,--but they don't appoint high constables any
longer."

"In six months, mademoiselle, the masses--who are made up of wicked
Butschas--could send all those grand dignities to the winds. Besides,
what signifies nobility in these days? There are not a thousand real
noblemen in France. The d'Herouvilles are descended from a tipstaff
in the time of Robert of Normandy. You will have to put up with many a
vexation from the old aunt with the furrowed face. Look here,--as you
are so anxious for the title of duchess,--you belong to the Comtat, and
the Pope will certainly think as much of you as he does of all those
merchants down there; he'll sell you a duchy with some name ending in
'ia' or 'agno.' Don't play away your happiness for an office under the
Crown."

CHAPTER XXV. A DIPLOMATIC LETTER

The poet's reflections during the night were thoroughly matter of fact.
He sincerely saw nothing worse in life than the situation of a married
man without money. Still trembling at the danger he had been led into by
his vanity, his desire to get the better of the duke, and his belief in
the Mignon millions, he began to ask himself what the duchess must be
thinking of his stay in Havre, aggravated by the fact that he had not
written to her for fourteen days, whereas in Paris they exchanged four
or five letters a week.

"And that poor woman is working hard to get me appointed commander of
the Legion and ambassador to the Court of Baden!" he cried.

Thereupon, with that promptitude of decision which results--in poets as
well as in speculators--from a lively intuition of the future, he sat
down and composed the following letter:--

To Madame la Duchesse de Chaulieu:

My dear Eleonore,--You have doubtless been surprised at not
hearing from me; but the stay I am making in this place is not
altogether on account of my health. I have been trying to do a
good turn to our little friend La Briere. The poor fellow has
fallen in love with a certain Mademoisel