"Between us, who are well-born, and consort not with plebeians, that vulgar and sentimental sort of love, which is painted by those who write books for your mantuamakers and chambermaids, would be in exceedingly bad taste. It would be but slighting love and making no account of its enjoyments, were we to go and bury it in some obscure corner of the Provinces, or of Paris--we, who belong to Versailles--living there with it, in monotonous solitude and unchanging contemplation!" "Ah!" said the Marchioness, "you think so?" "Tell me, rather, of fêtes that dazzle one with lights, with noise, with smiles, with wit, through which one glides intoxicated, with the fair conquest in triumph on one's arm... why hide one's happiness, in place of parading it? The jealousy of the world does but increase, and cannot diminish it. My uncle, the Cardinal, stands well at court. He has the King's ear, and better still, the Countess's. He will, ere long, procure me one of the Northern embassies. Cannot you fancy yourself Madame the Ambassadress, treading the platform of a drawing-room, as royalty with royalty, with the highest nobility of a kingdom--having the men at your feet, and the women on lower seats around you, whilst you yourself are occupant of a throne, and wield a sceptre?" And as Monsieur de Beaugency warmed with his own eloquence, he gently slid from his seat to the knees of the Marchioness, whose hand he covered with kisses. She listened to him, with a smile on her lips, and then abruptly said to him: "Rise, sir, and hear me in turn. Are you in truth sincerely attached to me?" "With my whole soul, Marchioness!" "Are you prepared to make every sacrifice?" "Every one, Madam." "That is fortunate indeed; for to be prepared for all, is to accomplish one, without the slightest difficulty; and it is but a single one that I require." "Oh, speak! Must a throne be conquered?" "By no means, sir. You must only call to mind that you own a fine chateau in Poitou." "Pooh!" said Monsieur de Beaugency, "a shed." "Every man's house is his castle," replied the widow. "And having called it to mind, you need only order post-horses." "For what purpose?" "To carry me off to Courlac. It is there that your almoner shall unite us, in the chapel, in presence of your domestics and your vassals, our only witnesses." "A singular whim, Marchioness; but I submit to it." "Very well. We will set out this evening.... Ah! I forgot." "What, further?" "Before starting, you will send in your resignation to the King." Monsieur de Beaugency almost bounded from his seat. "Do you dream of that, Marchioness?" "Assuredly. You will not, at Courlac, be able to perform your duties at court." "And on returning?" "We will not return." "We will--not--return!" slowly ejaculated Monsieur de 

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