His first surprise past, Florestan was ashamed of his weakness; his habitual audacity resumed its ascendency, and, making a step towards Madame de Lucenay in order to take her hand, he said, in his most insinuating tone:
"Clotilde, what ails you? I never saw you look so lovely, and yet--"
"Really, this is too impudent!" exclaimed the duchess, recoiling with such disgust and hauteur that Florestan was again overcome with surprise.
"Will you, at least, Clotilde, tell me the cause of this change, sudden, singular as it is? What have I done? How have I offended?"
Without making any reply, Madame de Lucenay looked at him, as is vulgarly said, from head to foot, with so insulting an expression that Florestan felt red with the anger which displayed itself upon his brow, and exclaimed:
"I am aware, madame, that it is thus you habitually break off. Is it a rupture that you now desire?"
"The question is singular!" said Madame de Lucenay, with a sarcastic laugh. "Learn, sir, that when a lackey robs me, I do not break with him, I turn him away."
"Oh, a truce to this!" said the duchess, in a stern and peremptory tone. "Your presence disgusts me! Why are you here? Have you not had your money?"
"It is true, then, as I guessed, the twenty-five thousand francs--"
"Your last forgery is withdrawn, is it not? The honour of your family's name is saved,--that is well,--go!"
"I very much regret that money, for it might have succoured so many honest families; but it was necessary to think of the shame to your father and to myself."
"So then, Clotilde, you know all? Ah, then, now nothing is left me but to die!" exclaimed Florestan, in a most pathetic and despairing tone.
A burst of derisive laughter from the duchess hailed this tragic exclamation, and she added, between two fits of fresh hilarity:
"I could never have believed infamy could appear so ridiculous!"
"Madame!" cried Florestan, his features contracted with rage.
The two folding-doors opened with a loud noise, and M. le Duc de Montbrison was announced.
In spite of his self-command, Florestan could scarcely repress the violence of his resentment, which any man more observing than the duke must certainly have perceived.
M. de Montbrison was scarcely eighteen years of age. Let our readers imagine a most engaging countenance, like that of a young girl, white and red, whose vermilion lips and downy chin were slightly shaded by a nascent beard. Let them add to this large brown eyes, as yet timid, but which in time would gleam like a falcon's, a figure as graceful as that of the duchess herself, and then, perhaps, they may have some idea of this young duke, the Cherubino as complete in idea as ever countess or waiting-maid decked in a woman's cap, after having remarked the ivory whiteness of his neck.