e are
women who sell themselves for money; there are others to be gained by
gifts, it is a vile world! Oh, I wish I were a simple bourgeoise, a
working girl, if you would rather have a woman beneath you than a woman
whose devotion is accompanied by high rank, as men count it. Oh, my
Armand, there are noble, high, and chaste and pure natures among us;
and then they are lovely indeed. I would have all nobleness that I might
offer it all up to you. Misfortune willed that I should be a duchess;
I would I were a royal princess, that my offering might be complete. I
would be a grisette for you, and a queen for everyone besides."

He listened, damping his cigars with his lips.

"You will let me know when you wish to go," he said.

"But I should like to stay----"

"That is another matter!"

"Stay, that was badly rolled," she cried, seizing on a cigar and
devouring all that Armand's lips had touched.

"Do you smoke?"

"Oh, what would I not do to please you?"

"Very well. Go, madame."

"I will obey you," she answered, with tears in her eyes.

"You must be blindfolded; you must not see a glimpse of the way."

"I am ready, Armand," she said, bandaging her eyes.

"Can you see?"

"No."

Noiselessly he knelt before her.

"Ah! I can hear you!" she cried, with a little fond gesture, thinking
that the pretence of harshness was over.

He made as if he would kiss her lips; she held up her face.

"You can see, madame."

"I am just a little bit curious."

"So you always deceive me?"

"Ah! take off this handkerchief, sir," she cried out, with the passion
of a great generosity repelled with scorn, "lead me; I will not open my
eyes."

Armand felt sure of her after that cry. He led the way; the Duchess
nobly true to her word, was blind. But while Montriveau held her hand
as a father might, and led her up and down flights of stairs, he was
studying the throbbing pulses of this woman's heart so suddenly invaded
by Love. Mme de Langeais, rejoicing in this power of speech, was glad to
let him know all; but he was inflexible; his hand was passive in reply
to the questionings of her hand.

At length, after some journey made together, Armand bade her go forward;
the opening was doubtless narrow, for as she went she felt that his hand
protected her dress. His care touched her; it was a revelation surely
that there was a little love still left; yet it was in some sort a
farewell, for Montriveau left her without a word. The a