Courtalins; and you have not, I suppose, any idea of disputing what
Louis XIV. thought best to do. Now, Aunt Louise, can he?"

"Certainly not."

"But Saint Simon--"

"Oh, let us leave Saint Simon alone; he is prejudice and inaccuracy
itself! I know he is on your side, but that doesn't count; but I will,
to be agreeable to you, acknowledge that you are better looking and
taller than M. de Courtalin--"

"But--"

"Oh, my dear, I begin to see! You are dying for me to tell you that.
Well, yes, you are a fairly handsome man; but that is only a very
perishable advantage, and you have too much respect for
conventionalities to wish to make that equal to the decree of Louis XIV.
However, I loved you--I loved you faithfully, tenderly, fondly,
stupidly; yes, stupidly, for when I had come out in society, the year
before, in April, 1889, at Mme. de Fresnes's ball, when I had allowed my
poor, little, thin shoulders to be seen for the first time (I must have
been about seventeen), I noticed that the young marriageable men in our
set (they are all quoted, noted, and labelled) drew away from me with
strange, respectful deference. I appeared to be of no importance or
interest, in spite of my name, my dowry, and my eyes. You see, I had
singed myself. I had so ridiculously advertised my passion for you that
I no longer belonged to myself; I was considered as belonging to you. As
soon as I had put on my first long dress, which gave me at once the
right to think of marriage and speak of love, I had told all my friends