modest again--"

"You will make a mistake, monsieur," she laughed; "vanity should be
left to those who have nothing else to recommend them."

The conversation thus opened ranged at large, in the usual way, over a
multitude of topics--art and literature, politics, men and things
--till insensibly they fell to talking of the eternal theme in France
and all the world over--love, sentiment, and women.

"We are bond-slaves."

"You are queens."

This was the gist and substance of all the more or less ingenious
discourse between Charles and the Marquise, as of all such discourses
--past, present, and to come. Allow a certain space of time, and the
two formulas shall begin to mean "Love me," and "I will love you."

"Madame," Charles de Vandenesse exclaimed under his breath, "you have
made me bitterly regret that I am leaving Paris. In Italy I certainly
shall not pass hours in intellectual enjoyment such as this has been."

"Perhaps, monsieur, you will find happiness, and happiness is worth
more than all the brilliant things, true and false, that are said
every evening in Paris."

Before Charles took leave, he asked permission to pay a farewell call
on the Marquise d'Aiglemont, and very lucky did he feel himself when
the form of words in which he expressed himself for once was used in