accepted Ninon's philosophy without question.

Her lovers were always men of rank and station or of high talents, but
she was caught once by the dazzle of a famous dancer named Pécour, who
pleased her exceedingly, and who became the fortunate rival of the Duc
de Choiseul, afterward a marshal of France. It happened that Choiseul
was more remarkable for his valor than for his probity and solid
virtues, and could not inspire in Ninon's heart anything but the
sterile sentiments of esteem and respect. He was certainly worthy of
these, but he was too cold in his amorous desires to please Ninon.

"He is a very worthy gentleman," said she, "but he never gives me a
chance to love him."

The frequent visits of Pécour excited the jealousy of the warrior, but
he did not dare complain, not knowing whether things had reached a
climax and fearing that if he should mention the matter he might help
them along instead of stopping them. One day, however, he attempted to
goad his unworthy rival into some admission, and received a response
that was enough to settle his doubts.

Pécour was in the habit of wearing a costume much resembling that of
the military dandies of the period. Choiseul meeting him in this
equivocal garb, proceeded to be funny at his expense by putting to him
all sorts of ironical and embarrassing questions. But Pécour felt all
the vanity of a successful rival and was good natured. Then the Duke
began to make sneering remarks which roused the dancer's anger.

"Pray, what flag are you fighting under, and what body do you
command?" asked Monseigneur with a sarcastic smile.