touching this Marquis de Bardelys, it is very plain that the
Chevalier boasted when he said that they were as brothers - he and
the Marquis - is it not? He grew ill at ease when you reminded
him of the possibility of the Marquis's visit to Lavedan." And she
laughed quaintly to herself. "Do you think that he so much as
knows Bardelys?" she asked me suddenly.

"Not so much as by sight," I answered. "He is full of information
concerning that unworthy gentleman, but it is only information
that the meanest scullion in Paris might afford you, and just as
inaccurate."

"Why do you speak of him as unworthy? Are you of the same opinion
as my father?"

"Aye, and with better cause."

"You know him well?"

"Know him? Pardieu, he is my worst enemy. A worn-out libertine;
a sneering, cynical misogynist; a nauseated reveller; a hateful
egotist. There is no more unworthy person, I'll swear, in all
France. Peste! The very memory of the fellow makes me sick.
Let us talk of other things."

But although I urged it with the best will and the best intentions
in the world, I was not to have my way. The air became suddenly
heavy with the scent of musk, and the Chevalier de Saint-Eustache
stood before us, and forced the conversation once more upon the
odious topic of Monsieur de Bardelys.