-whom the interest of the moment had
withdrawn from his concealment--gave a startled cry, gathered up her
skirts, and retired within the room.

Since leaving college up to this hour, Louis de Camors had never formed
any great opinion of the Juliet who had taken Lescande as her Romeo. He
experienced a flash of agreeable surprise on discovering that his friend
was more happy in that respect than he had supposed.

"I am about to be scolded, my friend," said Lescande, with a hearty
laugh, "and you also must stay for your share. You will stay and
breakfast with us?"

Camors hesitated; then said, hastily, "No, no! Impossible! I have an
engagement which I must keep."

Notwithstanding Camors's unwillingness, Lescande detained him until he
had extorted a promise to come and dine with them--that is, with him, his
wife, and his mother-in-law, Madame Mursois--on the following Tuesday.
This acceptance left a cloud on the spirit of Camors until the appointed
day. Besides abhorring family dinners, he objected to being reminded of
the scene of the balcony. The indiscreet kindness of Lescande both
touched and irritated him; for he knew he should play but a silly part
near this pretty woman. He felt sure she was a coquette, notwithstanding
which, the recollections of his youth and the character of her husband
should make her sacred to him. So he was not in the most agreeable frame
of mind when he stepped out of his dog-cart, that Tuesday evening, before
the little villa of the Avenue Maillot.

At his reception by Madame Lescande and her mother he took heart a
little. They appeared to him what they were, two honest-hearted women,
surrounded by luxury and elegance. The mother--an ex-beauty--had been
left a widow when very young, and to this time had avoided any stain on
her character. With them, innate delicacy held the place of those solid
principles so little tolerated by French society. Like a few other women
of society, Madame had the quality of virtue just as ermine has the
quality of whiteness. Vice was not so repugnant to her as an evil as it
was as a blemish. Her daughter had received from her those instincts of
chastity which are oftener than we imagine hidden under the appearance of
pride. But these amiable women had one unfortunate caprice, not uncommon
at this day among Parisians of their position. Although rather clever,
they bowed down, with the adoration of bourgeoises, before that
aristocracy, more or less pure, that p