fortitude, her humility--he did not
say penitence, for Francezka told me that neither old Peter nor she
herself had ever been able to get one word of regret for the past out
of Lisa. I told Francezka about my chance meeting with Jacques Haret.
She asked me if I had given him a good beating; Francezka was, in some
respects, a vengeful woman. I told her it had not occurred to me to do
this, but I would remember it if I ever met him under favorable
circumstances again. He had honestly earned a beating--the only thing
he ever honestly earned in his life.

Besides Peter, my other old friend at the chateau, Bold, seemed also
changed, but for the worse. Age had fastened upon him, and he was now
decrepit. That was perhaps the reason why he was not so much with his
mistress as formerly, but, in truth, the whirl of the days and nights
was such that a sober and discreet dog could not keep up the pace.

Now that Gaston Cheverny had been miraculously restored to his wife,
people began to ask about Regnard. Count Saxe inquired of Gaston if
anything was known of Regnard, but Gaston shook his head. He had not
yet had time to have inquiries made about his brother, but would do
so. Judging, however, from such information as he had found awaiting
him, it seemed likely that Regnard was dead. This Count Saxe
combatted, saying it seemed to him most unlikely that an officer of
rank in the East India Company's army should die without his family or
friends receiving any notification.

And if it were indeed true that Regnard was dead, his estate was worth
inquiring after. The sum he had received for Castle Haret was in
itself a considerable one. To this Gaston replied obstinately that he
was convinced Regnard's long silence meant that he was dead, and as
soon as it was possible, inquiries should be set on foot in England to
find out all the facts connected with Regnard's fate. In spite of
this, however, I saw that Gaston was really indifferent to his
brother's fate, and remembering their unclouded intimacy and
affection, in spite of their rivalry for Francezka, I found this
surprising. It was the first genuine cause I had for loving Gaston
Cheverny less, because his warmth and kindness to me suffered no
variation.

I had not, of course, much chance for private talk with Francezka
during that week of dancing and feasting, but I felt she was too loyal
a soul to forget me in her hour of triumph, and would not let me
depart without some evidenc