The Chevalier slipped the ring on his finger, twirled it, and remained

silent.

"Well?" said Victor, humorously.

"You never told me about Madame de Brissac." The Chevalier held the

beryl of the ring toward the light and watched the flames dance upon

its surface.

"Why should I have told you? I knew how matters stood between you and

madame; it would have annoyed you. It was not want of confidence,

Paul; it was diffidence. Are you sober enough to hear all about it

now?"

"Sober? Well, I can listen." The Chevalier was but half awake

mentally; he still looked at Victor as one would look at an apparition.

"So. Well, then," Victor began, "once upon a time there lived a great

noble. He was valiant in wars and passing loves. From the age of

eighteen to sixty, Mars nor Venus had withheld their favors. He was a

Henri IV without a crown."

"Like that good father of mine," said the Chevalier, scowling.

"His sixtieth birthday came, and it was then he found that the garden

of pleasure, that had offered so many charming flowers for his

plucking, had drawn to its end. Behind, there were only souvenirs;

before, nothing but barren fields. Suddenly he remembered that he had

forgotten to marry. A name such as his must not sink into oblivion.

He must have a wife, young and innocent. He did not seek love; in this

his heart was as a cinder on a dead hearth. He desired an ornament to

grace his home, innocence to protect his worldly honor. Strange, how

these men who have tasted all fruits, the bitter and the sweet, should

in their old age crave the companionship of youth and innocence. So he

cast about. Being rich, he waived the question of any dowry save

beauty and birth. A certain lady-in-waiting, formerly, to the queen,

solved the problem for him. In a month her daughter would leave her

convent, fresh and innocent as the dews of morning."

"O rare poet!" interrupted the Chevalier, with a droll turn of the head.

"This pleased the noble greatly. Men who have never found their ideals

grow near-sighted at sixty. The marriage was celebrated quietly; few

persons had ever heard of Gabrielle de Montbazon. Monsieur le Comte

returned to Paris and reopened his hôtel. But he kept away from court

and mingled only with those who were in disfavor. Among his friends he

wore his young wife as one would wear a flower. He evinced the same

pride in showing her off as he would in showing off a fine horse, a

famous picture, a rare drinking-cup. Madame was at first dazzled; it

was such a change from convent life. He kept wondrous guard over her

the first year. He never had any young companions at the hôtel; they

were all antique like himself. Paul, there is something which age

refuses to understand. Youth, like a flower, does not thrive in dusty

nooks, in dark cellars."




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