said Marechal, gayly. "Who is to prove that the Princess will not be a
widow soon?"

Pierre could not help laughing and said,

"Come, don't talk such nonsense!"

"My dear fellow," concluded Marechal, "in life it is only nonsense that
is common-sense. Come and smoke a cigar."

They traversed several groups of people and bent their steps in the
direction of the chateau. The Prince was advancing toward the terrace,
with an elegantly dressed and beautiful woman on his arm. Savinien, in
the midst of a circle of dandies, was picking the passers-by to pieces in
his easy-going way. Pierre and Marechal came behind these young men
without being noticed.

"Who is that hanging on the arm of our dear Prince?" asked a little fat
man, girt in a white satin waistcoat, and a spray of white lilac in his
buttonhole.

"Eh! Why, Le Brede, my boy, you don't know anything!" cried Savinien in
a bantering, jocose tone.

"Because I don't know that lovely fair woman?" said Le Brede, in a
piqued voice. "I don't profess to know the names of all the pretty women
in Paris!"

"In Paris? That woman from Paris? You have not looked at her. Come,
open your eyes. Pure English style, my friend."