shown a
little more resolution, His Majesty would be a nobody at this day. It is
time I went out of this world, the noblesse is dead. Yes, it is all
over with you, my children," she continued, looking as she spoke at the
Vidame. "What has my niece done that the whole town should be talking
about her? She is in the wrong; I disapprove of her conduct, a useless
scandal is a blunder; that is why I still have my doubts about this want
of regard for appearances; I brought her up, and I know that----"

Just at that moment the Duchess came out of her boudoir. She had
recognised her aunt's voice and heard the name of Montriveau. She
was still in her loose morning-gown; and even as she came in, M.
de Grandlieu, looking carelessly out of the window, saw his niece's
carriage driving back along the street. The Duke took his daughter's
face in both hands and kissed her on the forehead.

"So, dear girl," he said, "you do not know what is going on?"

"Has anything extraordinary happened, father dear?"

"Why, all Paris believes that you are with M. de Montriveau."

"My dear Antoinette, you were at home all the time, were you not?"
said the Princess, holding out a hand, which the Duchess kissed with
affectionate respect.

"Yes, dear mother; I was at home all the time. And," she added, as she
turned to greet the Vidame and the Marquis, "I wished that all Paris
should think that I was with M. de Montriveau."

The Duke flung up his hands, struck them together in despair, and folded
his arms.

"Then, cannot you see what will come of this mad freak?" he asked at
last.

But the aged Princess had suddenly risen, and stood looking steadily
at the Duchess, the younger woman flushed, and her eyes fell. Mme de
Chauvry gently drew her closer, and said, "My little angel, let me kiss
you!"

She kissed her niece very affectionately on the forehead, and continued
smiling, while she held her hand in a tight clasp.

"We are not under the Valois now, dear child. You have compromised your
husband and your position. Still, we will arrange to make everything
right."

"But, dear aunt, I do not wish to make it right at all. It is my wish
that all Paris should say that I was with M. de Montriveau this morning.
If you destroy that belief, however ill grounded it may be, you will do
me a singular disservice."

"Do you really wish to ruin yourself, child, and to grieve your family?"

"My family, father, unintentionally condemned me to irreparable