Percival talked to herself, and said:

"What shall I do? What shall I decide on? Must I marry him, that
handsome, tall fellow over there, who is watching me, for it is I that he
is looking at? He will come into our box directly this act is over, and
then I have only to say, 'I have decided; there is my hand; I will be
your wife,' and then all would be settled! I should be Princess!
Princess Romanelli! Princess Bettina! Bettina Romanelli! The names go
well together; they sound very pretty. Would it amuse me to be a
princess? Yes--and no! Among all the young men in Paris, who, during
the last year, have run after my money, this Prince Romanelli is the one
who pleases me best. One of these days I must make up my mind to marry.
I think he loves me. Yes, but the question is, do I love him? No, I
don't think I do, and I should so much like to love--so much, so much!"

At the precise moment when these reflections were passing through
Bettina's pretty head, Jean, alone in his study, seated before his desk
with a great book under the shade of his lamp, looked through, and took
notes of, the campaigns of Turenne. He had been directed to give a
course of instruction to the non-commissioned officers of the regiment,
and was prudently preparing his lesson for the next day.

But in the midst of his notes--Nordlingen, 1645; les Dunes, 1658;
Mulhausen and Turckheim, 1674-1675--he suddenly perceived (Jean did not
draw very badly) a sketch, a woman's portrait, which all at once appeared
under his pen. What was she doing there, in the middle of Turenne's
victories, this pretty little woman? And then who was she--Mrs. Scott
or Miss Percival? How could he tell? They resembled each other so much;
and, laboriously, Jean returned to the history of the campaigns of
Turenne.