resumed: "This step on the part of Monsieur de Cymier seems to have
rendered my errand unnecessary. I had thought of a way to end this sad
affair; a very simple way, much better, most certainly, than men cutting
their own throats or those of other people. But since peace has been
made over the ruins of Jacqueline's reputation, I had better say nothing
and go away."

"No--no! Let us hear what you had to propose," said Fred, getting up
from his couch so quickly that he jarred his bandaged arm, and uttered a
cry of pain, which seemed very much like an oath, too.

Giselle was silent. Standing before the hearth, she was warming her
small feet, watching, as she did so, Madame d'Argy's profile, which was
reflected in the mirror. It was severe--impenetrable. It was Fred who
spoke first.

"In the first place," he said, hesitating, "are you sure that
Mademoiselle de Nailles has not just arrived from Monaco?"

"I am certain that for a week she has been living quietly with
Modeste, and that, though she passed through Monaco, she did not stay
there--twenty-four hours, finding that the air of that place did not
agree with her."

"But what do you say to what Monsieur Martel saw with his own eyes, and
which is confirmed by public rumor?" cried Madame d'Argy, as if she were
giving a challenge.

"Monsieur Martel saw Jacqueline in bad company. She was not there of
her own will. As to public rumor, we may feel sure that to make it as
flattering to her tomorrow as it is otherwise to-day only a marriage is
necessary. Yes, a marriage! That is the way I had thought of to settle
everything and make everybody happy."

"What man would marry a girl who had compromised herself?" said Madame
d'Argy, indignantly.

"He who has done his part to compromise her."

"Then go and propose it to Monsieur de Cymier!"

"No. It is not Monsieur de Cymier whom she loves."

"Ah!" Madame d'Argy was on her feet at once. "Indeed, Giselle, you are
losing your senses. If I were not afraid of agitating Fred--"

He was, in truth, greatly agitated. The only hand that he could use was
pulling and tearing at the little blue cape crossed on his breast, in
which his mother had wrapped him; and this unsuitable garment formed
such a queer contrast to the expression of his face that Giselle, in her
nervous excitement, burst out laughing, an explosion of merriment which
completed the exasperation of Madame d'Argy.

"Never!" she cried, beside herself. "You hear me-