penitence.

_Marquis_--Not for you.

_Baroness_--What do you know about it?

_Marquis_--I read it in your hand. I even see that the contrary would
cost you more, for nature has gifted your heart with unalterable
calmness.

_Baroness_ [_drawing away her hand_]--Say at once that I'm a monster.

_Marquis_--Time enough! The credulous think you a saint; the skeptics
say you desire power; I, Guy François Condorier, Marquis d'Auberive,
think you a clever little German, trying to build a throne for yourself
in the Faubourg Saint-Germain. You have conquered the men, but the women
resist you: your reputation offends them; and for want of a better
weapon they use this miserable rumor I've just repeated. In short, your
flag's inadequate and you're looking for a larger one. Henry IV. said
that Paris was worth a mass. You think so too.

_Baroness_--They say sleep-walkers shouldn't be contradicted. However,
do let me say that if I really wanted a husband--with my money and my
social position, I might already have found twenty.

_Marquis_--Twenty, yes; but not one. You forget this little devil of a
rumor.

_Baroness [rising]_--Only fools believe that.