ontempt; he
stopped, and began to play with the hammer of his gun as if to disguise
his deep feeling.

"But nonsense," he went on, "my day is over! A man ought to have the
body as well as the imagination young. Why did I marry? What is most
treacherous in girls educated by mothers who lived in that brilliant era
of gallantry, is that they put on an air of frankness, of reserve; they
look as if butter would not melt in their mouths, and those who know
them well feel that they would swallow anything!"

He rose, lifted his gun with a gesture of rage, and dashing it to the
ground thrust it far up the butt in the moist sod.

"It would seem as if my dear aunt were fond of a little fun," said the
officer to me in a low voice.

"Or of denouements that do not come off!" I added.

The nephew tightened his cravat, adjusted his collar and gave a jump
like a Calabrian goat. We returned to the chateau at about two in the
afternoon. The count kept me with him until dinner-time, under the
pretext of looking for some medals, of which he had spoken during our
return home. The dinner was dull. The countess treated her nephew with
stiff and cold politeness. When we entered the drawing-room the count
said to his wife:

"Are you going to play backgammon?--We will leave you."

The young countess made no reply. She gazed at the fire, as if she had
not heard. Her husband took some steps towards the door, inviting me by
the wave of his hand to follow him. At the sound of his footsteps, his
wife quickly turned her head.

"Why do you leave us?" said she, "you will have all tomorrow to show
your friend the reverse of the medals."

The count remained. Without paying any attention to the awkwardness
which had succeeded the former military aplomb of his nephew, the
count exercised during the whole evening his full powers as a charming
conversationalist. I had never before seen him so brilliant or so
gracious. We spoke a great deal about women. The witticisms of our host
were marked by the most exquisite refinement. He made me forget that
his hair was white, for he showed the brilliancy which belonged to a
youthful heart, a gaiety which effaces the wrinkles from the cheek and
melts the snow of wintry age.

The next day the nephew went away. Even after the death of M. de Noce, I
tried to profit by the intimacy of those familiar conversations in which
women are sometimes caught off their guard to sound her, but I could
never learn what imper