held, "it was not sin, unless modesty be a sin, which made a rustic
hesitate long before he dared to offer his homage to the queen of the
graces."

"Not badly said for a rustic," cried Enguerrand; "eh, Madame?"

"My cousin, you are pardoned," said the Duchesse. "Compliment is the
perfume of _gentilhommerie_; and if you brought enough of that perfume
from the flowers of Rochebriant to distribute among the ladies at court,
you will be terribly the mode there. Seducer!"--here she gave the
Marquis a playful tap on the cheek, not in a coquettish but in a mother-
like familiarity, and looking at him attentively, said: "Why, you are
even handsomer than your father. I shall be proud to present to their
Imperial Majesties so becoming a cousin. But seat yourselves here,
Messieurs, close to my arm-chair, _caussons_."

The Duchesse then took up the ball of the conversation. She talked
without any apparent artifice, but with admirable tact; put just the
questions about Rochebriant most calculated to please Alain, shunning all
that might have pained him; asking him for descriptions of the
surrounding scenery, the Breton legends; hoping that the old castle would
never be spoiled by modernizing restorations; inquiring tenderly after
his aunt, whom she had in her childhood once seen, and still remembered
with her sweet, grave face; paused little for replies; then turned to
Enguerrand with sprightly small-talk on the topics of the day, and every
now and then bringing Alain into the pale of the talk, leading on
insensibly until she got Enguerrand himself to introduce the subject of
the emperor, and the political troubles which were darkening a reign
heretofore so prosperous and splendid.