ecidedly handsome," said the Marquise to the
secretary; "now if she only had your name."

"Yes, her defect is that she is the daughter of an auctioneer. She will
fail for want of birth," replied des Lupeaulx, with a cold manner
that contrasted strangely with the ardor of his remarks about Madame
Rabourdin not half an hour earlier.

The marquise looked at him fixedly.

"The glance you gave them did not escape me," she said, motioning
towards the minister and Madame Rabourdin; "it pierced the mask of your
spectacles. How amusing you both are, to quarrel over that bone!"

As the marquise turned to leave the room the minister joined her and
escorted her to the door.

"Well," said des Lupeaulx to Madame Rabourdin, "what do you think of his
Excellency?"

"He is charming. We must know these poor ministers to appreciate
them," she added, slightly raising her voice so as to be heard by his
Excellency's wife. "The newspapers and the opposition calumnies are so
misleading about men in politics that we are all more or less influenced
by them; but such prejudices turn to the advantage of statesmen when we
come to know them personally."

"He is very good-looking," said des Lupeaulx.

"Yes, and I assure you he is quite lovable," she said, heartily.

"Dear child," said des Lupeaulx, with a genial, caressing manner; "you
have actually done the impossible."

"What is that?"

"Resuscitated the dead. I did not think that man had a heart; ask his
wife. But he may have just enough for a passing fancy. Therefore profit
by it. Come this way, and don't be surprised." He led Madame Rabourdin
into the boudoir, placed her on a sofa, and sat down beside her. "You
are very sly," he said, "and I like you the better for it. Between
ourselves, you are a clever woman. Des Lupeaulx served to bring you
into this house, and that is all you wanted of him, isn't it? Now when a
woman decides to love a man for what she can get out of him it is better
to take a sexagenarian Excellency than a quadragenarian secretary;
there's more profit and less annoyance. I'm a man with spectacles,
grizzled hair, worn out with dissipation,--a fine lover, truly! I tell
myself all this again and again. It must be admitted, of course, that I
can sometimes be useful, but never agreeable. Isn't that so? A man must
be a fool if he cannot reason about himself. You can safely admit the
truth and let me see to the depths of your heart; we are partners, not
lovers. If I sh