When Mrs Villiers had gone, closing the office door after her,
Gaston was silent for a few minutes, and then burst out laughing.

'She trusts me,' he said, in a mocking tone. 'In heaven's name, why?
I never did pretend to be a saint, and I'm certainly not going to be
one because I'm put on my word of honour. Madame,' with an ironical
bow in the direction of the closed door, 'since you trust me I will
not speak of love to this bread-and-butter miss, unless she proves
more than ordinarily pretty, in which case,' shrugging his
shoulders, 'I'm afraid I must betray your trust, and follow my own
judgment.'

He laughed again, and then, going back to his desk, began to add up
his figures. At the second column, however, he paused, and commenced
to sketch faces on the blotting paper.

'She's the daughter of a minister,' he said, musingly. 'I can guess,
then, what like she is--prim and demure, like a caricature by Cham.
In that case she will be safe from me, for I could never bear an
ugly woman. By the way, I wonder if ugly women think themselves
pretty; their mirrors must lie most obligingly if they do. There was
Adele, she was decidedly plain, not to say ugly, and yet so
brilliant in her talk. I was sorry she died; yes, even though she
was the cause of my exile to New Caledonia. Bah! it is always a
woman one has to thank for one's misfortunes--curse them; though why
I should I don't know, for they have always been good friends to me.
Ah, well, to return to business, Mademoiselle Kitty is coming, and I
must behave like a bear in case she should think my intentions are
wrong.'