happening to come in very early one evening, found M. l'Abbe
Gondrand, the Duchess's spiritual director, established in an armchair
by the fireside, looking as a spiritual director might be expected to
look while digesting his dinner and the charming sins of his penitent.
In the ecclesiastic's bearing there was a stateliness befitting a
dignitary of the Church; and the episcopal violet hue already appeared
in his dress. At sight of his fresh, well-preserved complexion, smooth
forehead, and ascetic's mouth, Montriveau's countenance grew uncommonly
dark; he said not a word under the malicious scrutiny of the other's
gaze, and greeted neither the lady nor the priest. The lover apart,
Montriveau was not wanting in tact; so a few glances exchanged with the
bishop-designate told him that here was the real forger of the Duchess's
armory of scruples.

That an ambitious abbe should control the happiness of a man of
Montriveau's temper, and by underhand ways! The thought burst in a
furious tide over his face, clenched his fists, and set him chafing and
pacing to and fro; but when he came back to his place intending to make
a scene, a single look from the Duchess was enough. He was quiet.

Any other woman would have been put out by her lover's gloomy silence;
it was quite otherwise with Mme de Langeais. She continued her
conversation with M. de Gondrand on the necessity of re-establishing the
Church in its ancient splendour. And she talked brilliantly.

The Church, she maintained, ought to be a temporal as well as a
spiritual power, stating her case better than the Abbe had done, and
regretting that the Chamber of Peers, unlike the English House of Lords,
had no bench of bishops. Nevertheless, the Abbe rose, yielded his place
to the General, and took his leave, knowing that in Lent he could play a
return game. As for the Duchess, Montriveau's behaviour had excited
her curiosity to such a pitch that she scarcely rose to return her
director's low bow.

"What is the matter with you, my friend?"

"Why, I cannot stomach that Abbe of yours."

"Why did you not take a book?" she asked, careless whether the Abbe,
then closing the door, heard her or no.

The General paused, for the gesture which accompanied the Duchess's
speech further increased the exceeding insolence of her words.

"My dear Antoinette, thank you for giving love precedence of the Church;
but, for pity's sake, allow me to ask one question."

"Oh! you are question