ry well," she replied, inclining her head in sign of dismissal,
without offering her hand; "we shall see each other again."

"But when?"

"At an early day."

He thought she required time for reflection, a little terrified doubtless
by the monster she had evoked; he saluted her gravely and departed.

The next day, and on the two succeeding days, he vainly presented himself
at her door.

The Marquise was either dining out or dressing.

It was for Camors a whole century of torment. One thought which often
disquieted him revisited him with double poignancy. The Marquise did not
love him. She only wished to revenge herself for the past, and after
disgracing him would laugh at him. She had made him sign the contract,
and then had escaped him. In the midst of these tortures of his pride,
his passion, instead of weakening, increased.

The fourth day after their interview he did not go to her house. He hoped
to meet her in the evening at the Viscountess d'Oilly's, where he usually
saw her every Friday. This lady had been formerly the most tender friend
of the Count's father. It was to her the Count had thought proper to
confide the education of his son.

Camors had preserved for her a kind of affection. She was an amiable
woman, whom he liked and laughed at.

No longer young, she had been compelled to renounce gallantry, which had
been the chief occupation of her youth, and never having had much taste
for devotion, she conceived the idea of having a salon. She received
there some distinguished men, savants and artists, who piqued themselves
on being free-thinkers.

The Viscountess, in order to fit herself for her new position, resolved
to enlighten herself. She attended public lectures and conferences, which
began to be fashionable. She spoke easily about spontaneous generation.
She manifested a lively surprise when Camors, who delighted in tormenting
her, deigned to inform her that men were descended from monkeys.

"Now, my friend," she said to him, "I can not really admit that. How can
you think your grandfather was a monkey, you who are so handsome?"

She reasoned on everything with the same force.

Although she boasted of being a sceptic, sometimes in the morning she
went out, concealed by a thick veil, and entered St. Sulpice, where she
confessed and put herself on good terms with God, in case He should
exist. She was rich and well connected, and in spite of the
irregularities of her youth, the best people vi