longer, if ever I did. Enough, Gratian, I will go to the world's end
with you!"




CHAPTER XI.

A SPRAT AND THE WHALE.


A few moments were enough for the two to enter the château again, where
their absence had begun to arouse curiosity, though the guests were too
well bred to make general remarks. With the cue that these "slow," tame
gatherings were but the cloak to more important conclaves, Césarine
studied them as never before. It was clear. Here and there were groups
which did not waste a word on the accent of Mademoiselle Delaporte, the
early history of Aimée Derclée, or the latest episode in the stage and
boudoir history of "the Beauty who is also the Stupid Beast." For a
certainty, conspiracy went on here at the gates of the capital; perhaps
from the pretty belvedere, where the large telescope was mounted for
lovers to see Venus, the sons of Mars ascertained where the batteries of
siege guns should be planted to shell Parisian palaces and forts.

Two of a trade never agree, says the wisdom of our ancestors, and from
that time Césarine detested Gratian. If he so easily betrayed his
friends, countrymen and employers for her, what might he not do as
regards her when she was older and her bloom vanished? Better not place
herself under his thumb and be cast off, in some remote, barbarous
region, when the caprice had worn out. But the money! What was this