She consulted her old god-father, Viscount Hugues de Pierras, on the
subject, and, after a few complimentary words, as she had begged him to
be sincere, he said:

"Good heavens! my dear child, I must confess that your psychologist is
not altogether wrong, nor your apprehensions either. I have, before now,
left many learned mistresses for women who were not in the least
learned, and who pleased me all the better on that account. But that did
not prevent the mistresses I had sacrificed from being women of
incomprehensible talents, in spite of their defeat. But what does that
matter? It ought to be enough for you, that you conquer, without
troubling yourself about the means by which you obtain your victory. I
do not suppose that you have any pretensions to being a _virtuosa_
in ..."

"In everything, yes. Excuse me, god-father, I have such pretensions. And
what I ask of you, is the means of obtaining absolute proof that my
pretensions are justified."

"Hum! Hum!" the viscount said, in some embarrassment, "I do not know of
any means, my dear child, unless we get together a jury...."

"Please do not joke about it!" Huguette exclaimed. "I am perfectly
serious."

"I am very serious also, I assure you, I think that a jury..."

"Composed of whom? Of men of the world, I suppose?"

"And what does this Julot do?"