"Clotilde!" exclaimed the comte, greatly astonished.
Intimately acquainted with the Prince de Noirmont, father of Madame de Lucenay, M. de Saint-Remy had known her from her childhood, and, during her girlhood, calling her, as he now did, by her baptismal name. The duchess, motionless with surprise, continued gazing on the old man with his white beard and mean attire, whose features she could not recall to mind.
"You, Clotilde!" repeated the comte, in an accent of painful reproach; "you here, in my son's house!"
These last words confirmed the vague reminiscence of Madame de Lucenay, who then recognised Florestan's father, and said:
The position was so plain and declaratory that the duchess, whose peculiar and resolute character is known to the reader, disdained to have recourse to falsehood, in order to account for her appearance there; and, relying on the really paternal affection which the comte had always testified for her, she said to him, with that air at once graceful, cordial, and decided, which was so peculiarly her own:
"Come, now, do not scold; you are my old, very old friend. Recollect you called me your dear little Clotilde at least twenty years ago."
"I know beforehand all you would say: you know my motto, 'What is, is what will be.'"
"Spare your reproaches, and let me rather express my extreme delight at seeing you again: your presence reminds me of so many things,--my poor dear father, in the first place, and then--heigho! my 'sweet fifteen!' Oh, how delightful it is to be fifteen!"
"It is because your father was my friend that--"
"Oh, yes," said the duchess, interrupting M. de Saint-Remy, "he was so very fond of you! You remember he always called you the man with the green ribands, and you always told him, 'You spoil Clotilde; mind, I tell you so;' and he replied, whilst he kissed me, 'I really do believe I spoil her, and I must make all haste and double my spoiling, for very soon the world will deprive me of her to spoil her in their turn.' Dear father! What a friend I lost!" and a tear started to the lovely eyes of Madame de Lucenay; then, extending her hand to M. de Saint-Remy, she said, in a faltering voice, "But indeed, in truth, I am happy, very happy, to see you again, you call up such precious remembrances,--memories so dear to my heart!"