great height upon another. The Vicomte smiled quietly to himself as
he combed his fair beard with his forefinger in a meditative fashion,
whilst even Roxalanne - who had sat silently listening to a
conversation that she was at times mercifully spared from following
too minutely - flashed me a humorous glance. To the Vicomtesse alone
who in common with women of her type was of a singular obtuseness -
was the situation without significance.

Saint-Eustache, to defend himself against my delicate imputation,
and to show how well acquainted he was with Bardelys, plunged at
once into a thousand details of that gentleman's magnificence. He
described his suppers, his retinue, his equipages, his houses, his
chateaux, his favour with the King, his successes with the fair sex,
and I know not what besides - in all of which I confess that even
to me there was a certain degree of novelty. Roxalanne listened
with an air of amusement that showed how well she read him. Later,
when I found myself alone with her by the river, whither we had
gone after the repast and the Chevalier's reminiscences were at
an end, she reverted to that conversation.

"Is not my cousin a great fanfarron, monsieur," she asked.

"Surely you know your cousin better than I," I answered cautiously.
"Why question me upon his character?"

"I was hardly questioning; I was commenting. He spent a fortnight
in Paris once, and he accounts himself, or would have us account
him, intimate with every courtier at the Luxembourg. Oh, he is very
amusing, this good cousin, but tiresome too." She laughed, and
there was the faintest note of scorn in her amusement. "Now,