rns out tears
and affectations and languors and melting phrases; then you shall see a
most magnificent conflagration (always supposing that the chimney takes
fire). The steel feminine system will glow red-hot like iron in the
forge; that kind of heat lasts longer than any other, and the glow of it
may possibly turn to love.

"Still," he continued, "I have my doubts. And, after all, is it worth
while to take so much trouble with the Duchess? Between ourselves a man
of my stamp ought first to take her in hand and break her in; I would
make a charming woman of her; she is a thoroughbred; whereas, you two
left to yourselves will never get beyond the A B C. But you are in love
with her, and just now you might not perhaps share my views on this
subject----. A pleasant time to you, my children," added Ronquerolles,
after a pause. Then with a laugh: "I have decided myself for facile
beauties; they are tender, at any rate, the natural woman appears in
their love without any of your social seasonings. A woman that haggles
over herself, my poor boy, and only means to inspire love! Well, have
her like an extra horse--for show. The match between the sofa and
confessional, black and white, queen and knight, conscientious scruples
and pleasure, is an uncommonly amusing game of chess. And if a man knows
the game, let him be never so little of a rake, he wins in three moves.
Now, if I undertook a woman of that sort, I should start with the
deliberate purpose of----" His voice sank to a whisper over the last
words in Armand's ear, and he went before there was time to reply.

As for Montriveau, he sprang at a bound across the courtyard of the
Hotel de Langeais, went unannounced up the stairs straight to the
Duchess's bedroom.

"This is an unheard-of thing," she said, hastily wrapping her
dressing-gown about her. "Armand! this is abominable of you! Come, leave
the room, I beg. Just go out of the room, and go at once. Wait for me in
the drawing-room.--Come now!"

"Dear angel, has a plighted lover no privilege whatsoever?"

"But, monsieur, it is in the worst possible taste of a plighted lover or
a wedded husband to break in like this upon his wife."

He came up to the Duchess, took her in his arms, and held her tightly to
him.

"Forgive, dear Antoinette; but a host of horrid doubts are fermenting in
my heart."

"_Doubts_? Fie!--Oh, fie on you!"

"Doubts all but justified. If you loved me, would you make this quarrel?
Would you no