ent if they had been capable of so definite
an expression.

"Mlle. de Terville!" said M. de Montalvan in some surprise, which,
however, the other did not observe; "do you know her?"

"Perfectly."

"Is it possible?"

"All about her."

"Tell me, how does she look?"

"Ah, now you ask too much. I have never seen her."

"But you say--"

"That I know all about her. Yes, I am to wed her in six weeks."

"The Devil and St. Philippe!"

"I don't wonder you are astonished, my dear De Montalvan. It's quite
throwing myself away to marry any woman at my time of life. Think how
many adventures I shall lose. I never intended to be married until I had
risen to something like the glory of Richelieu. Imagine having two
beauties fight a duel for you, for example! Richelieu was only
twenty-two when Mesdames de Nesle and de Polignac fought for his favor.
I am twenty-three, and no woman ever fought for me. At least, not that I
am aware of."

"Courage, De Berniers; if you had lived in Richelieu's day you would
have had forty duels upon your account instead of one."

"Quite likely. The age has degenerated. Some wine, De Montalvan. Yes,
the affair was arranged by our relatives. Contiguous estates; enormous
_dot_. I know very little about it myself, except that I am the victim.
Apropos," added M. de Berniers, as energetically as was consistent with
his sense of what a disciple of Fronsac owed himself, "you are at
leisure. The contract is to be signed early in September. Come to
Brittany, and help me through. They say Brittany is a fine country. I
have never seen it, though I have a chateau there. Will you come?"

De Montalvan looked keenly at his companion, as if endeavoring to detect
some hidden meaning in these last words, drank some more wine, and
remained silent.

"Come, De Montalvan, an answer."

M. de Montalvan scowled, and drank again. He appeared to be considering
in what manner he could most readily make himself offensive to M. de
Berniers. Presently he remarked, in a tone which was intended to be
deeply satirical, but which his frequent imbibitions rendered merely
malicious, "Have you made any wagers of late, my little friend?"

M. de Berniers's countenance fell into the same expression of discontent
as that which it had displayed on his companion's first appearance. He
essayed a frown,--a feat it would have been difficult for him to execute
at any time, but which was now simply impossible. He was not equal even
to