"I think I am the happiest of women, after you, let it be understood," replied Madeleine, smiling.
"And do you never think of marrying again, or rather," added Sophie, smiling in her turn, "of marrying? Because, really, notwithstanding your widowhood, you are a maiden."
"I hide nothing from you, Sophie. Ah, well, yes. One time I had a desire to marry,--that was a grand passion, a romance," replied Madeleine, gaily.
"Well, as you are free, who prevented this marriage?"
"Alas! I saw my hero for five minutes only, and from my balcony."
"Never! No doubt he has been translated to heaven among his brothers, the archangels, whose ideal beauty he possessed."
"Listen: six months ago I was in Vienna. I lived in the country situated near one of the suburbs of the city. One morning I was in a kiosk, the window of which looked out upon a field. Suddenly my attention was attracted by the noise of stamping and the clash of swords. I ran to my window; it was a duel."
"A young man of nineteen or twenty at most, as gracious and beautiful as they paint the angels, was fighting with a sort of giant with a ferocious face. My first wish was that the blond archangel--for blond is my passion--might triumph over the horrible demon, and although the combat lasted in my presence not more than two minutes, I had time to admire the intrepidity, the calmness, and dexterity of my hero,--his white breast half naked, his long, blond hair floating to the wind, his brow serene, his eyes brilliant, and a smile upon his lips, he seemed to brave danger with a charming grace, and at that moment, I confess it, his beauty appeared to me more than human. Suddenly, in the midst of a kind of fascination that the flashing of the swords had for me, I saw the giant stagger and fall. Immediately my beautiful hero threw away his sword, clasped his hands, and, falling on his knees before his adversary, lifted to heaven his enchanting face, where shone an expression so touching, so ingenuous, that to see him thus bending in grief over his vanquished enemy, one would have thought of a young girl's grief for her wounded dove, if we can compare this hideous giant to a dove. But his wound did not seem to be mortal, for he sat up, and, in a hoarse voice, which I could hear through my window-blind, said to his young enemy:
