“How is Thisbe?” asked Mademoiselle de Pen-Hoel of the chevalier, as soon as the cards were dealt.
“The poor little thing is like her master,” replied the chevalier; “she has some nervous trouble, she goes on three legs constantly. See, like this.”
In raising and crooking his arm to imitate the dog, the chevalier exposed his hand to his cunning neighbor, who wanted to see if he had Mistigris or the trump,--a first wile to which he succumbed.
“Oh!” said the baroness, “the end of Monsieur le cure’s nose is turning white; he has Mistigris.”
The pleasure of having Mistigris was so great to the rector--as it was to the other players--that the poor priest could not conceal it. In all human faces there is a spot where the secret emotions of the heart betray themselves; and these companions, accustomed for years to observe each other, had ended by finding out that spot on the rector’s face: when he had Mistigris the tip of his nose grew pale.
“You had company to-day,” said the chevalier to Mademoiselle de Pen-Hoel.
“Yes, a cousin of my brother-in-law. He surprised me by announcing the marriage of the Comtesse de Kergarouet, a Demoiselle de Fontaine.”
“The daughter of ‘Grand-Jacques,’” cried the chevalier, who had lived with the admiral during his stay in Paris.
“The countess is his heir; she has married an old ambassador. My visitor told me the strangest things about our neighbor, Mademoiselle des Touches,--so strange that I can’t believe them. If they were true, Calyste would never be so constantly with her; he has too much good sense not to perceive such monstrosities--”
“Monstrosities?” said the baron, waked up by the word.
The baroness and the rector exchanged looks. The cards were dealt; Mademoiselle de Pen-Hoel had Mistigris! Impossible to continue the conversation! But she was glad to hide her joy under the excitement caused by her last word.
“Your play, monsieur le baron,” she said, with an air of importance.
“My nephew is not one of those youths who like monstrosities,” remarked Zephirine, taking out her knitting-needle and scratching her head.
“Mistigris!” cried Mademoiselle de Pen-Hoel, making no reply to her friend.
The rector, who appeared to be well-informed in the matter of Calyste and Mademoiselle des Touches, did not enter the lists.