Whilst the wax-lights were burning in the castle of Blois,around the inanimate body of Gaston of Orleans, that lastrepresentative of the past; whilst the bourgeois of the citywere thinking out his epitaph, which was far from being apanegyric; whilst madame the dowager, no longer rememberingthat in her young days she had loved that senseless corpseto such a degree as to fly the paternal palace for his sake,was making, within twenty paces of the funeral apartment,her little calculations of interest and her littlesacrifices of pride; other interests and other prides werein agitation in all the parts of the castle into which aliving soul could penetrate. Neither the lugubrious soundsof the bells, nor the voices of the chanters, nor thesplendor of the waxlights through the windows, nor thepreparations for the funeral, had power to divert theattention of two persons, placed at a window of the interiorcourt - -a window that we are acquainted with, and whichlighted a chamber forming part of what were called thelittle apartments. For the rest, a joyous beam of the sun,for the sun appeared to care little for the loss France hadjust suffered; a sunbeam, we say, descended upon them,drawing perfumes from the neighboring flowers, and animatingthe walls themselves. These two persons, so occupied, not bythe death of the duke, but by the conversation which was theconsequence of that death, were a young woman and a youngman. The latter personage, a man of from twenty-five totwenty-six years of age, with a mien sometimes lively andsometimes dull, making good use of two large eyes, shadedwith long eye-lashes, was short of stature and swart ofskin; he smiled with an enormous, but well-furnished mouth,and his pointed chin, which appeared to enjoy a mobilitynature does not ordinarily grant to that portion of thecountenance, leant from time to time very lovingly towardshis interlocutrix, who, we must say did not always draw backso rapidly as strict propriety had a right to require. Theyoung girl - we know her, for we have already seen her, atthat very same window by the light of that same sun - theyoung girl presented a singular mixture of shyness andreflection; she was charming when she laughed, beautifulwhen she became serious; but, let us hasten to say, she wasmore frequently charming than beautiful. These two appearedto have attained the culminating point of a discussion - half-bantering, half-serious.

"Now, Monsieur Malicorne," said the young girl, "does it, atlength, please you that we should talk reasonably?"

"You believe that that is very easy, Mademoiselle Aure,"replied the young man. "To do what we like, when we can onlydo what we are able - - "

"Good! there he is bewildered in his phrases."

"Who, I?"

"Yes, you quit that lawyer's logic, my dear."

"Another impossibility. Clerk I am, Mademoiselle deMontalais."

"Demoiselle I am, Monsieur Malicorne."

"Alas, I know it well, and you overwhelm me by your rank; soI will say no more to you."

"Well, no, I don't overwhelm you; say what you have to tellme - say- it, I insist upon it."

Well, I obey you."

"That is truly fortunate."

"Monsieur is dead."

"Ah, peste! there's news! And where do you come from, to beable to tell us that?"

"I come from Orleans, mademoiselle."

"And is that all the news you bring?"

"Ah, no; I am come to tell you that Madame Henrietta ofEngland is coming to marry the king's brother."

"Indeed, Malicorne, you are insupportable with your news ofthe last century. Now, mind, if you persist in this badhabit of laughing at people, I will have you turned out."

"Oh!"

"Yes; for really you exasperate me."

"There, there. Patience, mademoiselle."

"You want to make yourself of consequence; I know wellenough why. Go!"

"Tell me, and I will answer you frankly, yes, if the thingbe true."

"You know that I am anxious to have that commission of ladyof honor, which I have been foolish enough to ask of you,and you do not use your credit."

"Who, I?" Malicorne cast down his eyes, joined his hands,and assumed his sullen air. "And what credit can the poorclerk of a procurer have, pray?"

"Your father has not twenty thousand livres a year fornothing, M. Malicorne."

"A provincial fortune, Mademoiselle de Montalais."

"Your father is not in the secrets of monsieur le prince fornothing."

"An advantage which is confined to lending monseigneurmoney."

"In a word, you are not the most cunning young fellow in theprovince for nothing."

"You flatter me "

"Who, I?"

"Yes, you."

"How so?"

"Since I maintain that I have no credit, and you maintain Ihave."

"Well, then, - my commission?"

"Well, - your commission?"

"Shall I have it, or shall I not?"

"You shall have it."

"Ay, but when?"

"When you like."

"Where is it, then?"

"In my pocket."

"How - in your pocket?"

"Yes."

And, with a smile, Malicorne drew from his pocket a letter,upon which mademoiselle seized as a prey, and which she readeagerly. As she read, her face brightened.

"Malicorne," cried she, after having read it, "in truth, youare a good lad."

"What for, mademoiselle?"

"Because you might have been paid for this commission, andyou have not." And she burst into a loud laugh, thinking toput the clerk out of countenance; but Malicorne sustainedthe attack bravely.

"I do not understand you," said he. It was now Montalais whowas disconcerted in her turn. "I have declared my sentimentsto you," continued Malicorne. "You have told me three times,laughing all the while, that you did not love me; you haveembraced me once without laughing, and that is all I want."

"All?" said the proud and coquettish Montalais, in a tonethrough which wounded pride was visible.

"Absolutely all, mademoiselle," replied Malicorne.

"Ah!" - And this monosyllable indicated as much anger asthe young man might have expected gratitude. He shook hishead quietly.

"Listen, Montalais," said he, without heeding whether thatfamiliarity pleased his mistress or not; "let us not disputeabout it."

"And why not?"

"Because during the year which I have known you, you mighthave had me turned out of doors twenty times if I did notplease you."

"Indeed; and on what account should I have had you turnedout?"

"Because I had been sufficiently impertinent for that."

"Oh, that, - yes, that's true."

"You see plainly that you are forced to avow it," saidMalicorne.

"Monsieur Malicorne!"

"Don't let us be angry; if you have retained me, then it hasnot been without cause."

"It is not, at least, because I love you," cried Montalais.

"Granted. I will even say that, at this moment, I am certainthat you hate me."

"Oh, you have never spoken so truly."

"Well, on my part I detest you."

"Ah! I take the act."

"Take it. You find me brutal and foolish; on my part I findyou have a harsh voice, and your face is too often distortedwith anger. At this moment you would allow yourself to bethrown out of that window rather than allow me to kiss thetip of your finger; I would precipitate myself from the topof the balcony rather than touch the hem of your robe. But,in five minutes, you will love me, and I shall adore you.Oh, it is just so."

"I doubt it."

"And I swear it."

"Coxcomb!"

"And then, that is not the true reason. You stand in need ofme, Aure, and I of you. When it pleases you to be gay, Imake you laugh; when it suits me to be loving, I look atyou. I have given you a commission of lady of honor whichyou wished for; you will give me, presently, something Iwish for."

"I will?"

"Yes, you will; but, at this moment, my dear Aure, I declareto you that I wish for absolutely nothing, so be at ease."

"You are a frightful man, Malicorne; I was going to rejoiceat getting this commission, and thus you quench my joy."

"Good; there is no time lost, - you will rejoice when I amgone."

"Go, then; and after - - "

"So be it; but in the first place, a piece of advice."

"What is it?"

"Resume your good-humor, - you are ugly when you pout."

"Coarse!"

"Come, let us tell the truth to each other, while we areabout it."

"Oh, Malicorne! Bad-hearted man!"

"Oh, Montalais! Ungrateful girl!"

The young man leant with his elbow upon the window-frame;Montalais took a book and opened it. Malicorne stood up,brushed his hat with his sleeve; smoothed down his blackdoublet, - Montalais, though pretending to read, looked athim out of the corner of her eye.

"Good!" cried she, furious, "he has assumed his respectfulair - and he will pout for a week."

"A fortnight, mademoiselle," said Malicorne, bowing.

Montalais lifted up her little doubled fist. "Monster!" saidshe; "oh! that I were a man!"

"What would you do to me?"

"I would strangle you."

"Ah! very well, then," said Malicorne; "I believe I begin todesire something."

"And what do you desire, Monsieur Demon? That I should losemy soul from anger?"

Malicorne was rolling his hat respectfully between hisfingers; but, all at once, he let fall his hat, seized theyoung girl by the shoulders, pulled her towards him andsealed her mouth with two lips that were very warm, for aman pretending to so much indifference. Aure would havecried out, but the cry was stifled in the kiss. Nervous and,apparently, angry, the young girl pushed Malicorne againstthe wall.

"Good!" said Malicorne, philosophically, "that's enough forsix weeks. Adieu, mademoiselle, accept my very humblesalutation." And he made three steps towards the door.

"Well! no, - you shall not go!" cried, Montalais, stampingwith her little foot. "Stay where you are! I order you!"

"You order me?"

"Yes; am I not mistress?"

"Of my heart and soul, without doubt."

"A pretty property! ma foi! The soul is silly and the heartdry."

"Beware, Montalais, I know you," said Malicorne; "you aregoing to fall in love with your humble servant."

"Well, yes!" said she, hanging round his neck with childishindolence, rather than with loving abandonment. "Well, yes!for I must thank you at least."

"And for what?"

"For the commission, is it not my whole future?"

"And mine."

Montalais looked at him.

"It is frightful," said she, "that one can never guesswhether you are speaking seriously or not."

"I cannot speak more seriously. I was going to Paris, - youare going there, - we are going there."

"And so it was for that motive only you have served me,selfish fellow!"

"What would you have me say, Aure? I cannot live withoutyou."

"Well! in truth, it is just so with me; you are,nevertheless, it must be confessed, a very bad-hearted youngman."

"Aure, my dear Aure, take care! if you take to calling namesagain, you know the effect they produce upon me, and I shalladore you." And so saying, Malicorne drew the young girl asecond time towards him. But at that instant a stepresounded on the staircase. The young people were so close,that they would have been surprised in the arms of eachother, if Montalais had not violently pushed Malicorne, withhis back against the door, just then opening. A loud cry,followed by angry reproaches, immediately resounded. It wasMadame de Saint-Remy who uttered the cry and the angrywords. The unlucky Malicorne almost crushed her between thewall and the door she was coming in at.

"It is again that good-for-nothing!" cried the old lady."Always here!"

"Ah, madame!" replied Malicorne, in a respectful tone; "itis eight long days since I was here."