Don't go to Havre, my dear," added the duke, paternally, "that would be giving yourself away. Come, here's a better plan, I think.
Gaspard's chateau of Rosembray is on the other side of the forest of Brotonne; why not give him a hint to invite the whole party?"
"He invite them?" said Eleonore.
"I mean, of course, the duchess; she is always engaged in pious works with Mademoiselle d'Herouville; give that old maid a hint, and get her to speak to Gaspard."
"You are a love of a man," cried Eleonore; "I'll write to the old maid and to Diane at once, for we must get hunting things made,--a riding hat is so becoming. Did you win last night at the English embassy?"
"Yes," said the duke; "I cleared myself."
"Henri, above all things, stop proceedings about Melchior's two appointments."
After writing half a dozen lines to the beautiful Diane de Maufrigneuse, and a short hint to Mademoiselle d'Herouville, Eleonore sent the following answer like the lash of a whip through the poet's lies.
To Monsieur le Baron de Canalis:--
My dear poet,--Mademoiselle de La Bastie is very beautiful;
Mongenod has proved to me that her father has millions. I did think of marrying you to her; I am therefore much displeased at your want of confidence. If you had any intention of marrying La Briere when you went to Havre it is surprising that you said nothing to me about it before you started. And why have you omitted writing to a friend who is so easily made anxious as I?
Your letter arrived a trifle late; I had already seen the banker.
You are a child, Melchior, and you are playing tricks with us. It is not right. The duke himself is quite indignant at your proceedings; he thinks you less than a gentleman, which casts some reflections on your mother's honor.
Now, I intend to see things for myself. I shall, I believe, have the honor of accompanying MADAME to the hunt which the Duc d'Herouville proposes to give for Mademoiselle de La Bastie. I
will manage to have you invited to Rosembray, for the meet will probably take place in Duc de Verneuil's park.
Pray believe, my dear poet, that I am none the less, for life, Your friend, Eleonore de M.
"There, Ernest, just look at that!" cried Canalis, tossing the letter at Ernest's nose across the breakfast-table; "that's the two thousandth love-letter I have had from that woman, and there isn't even a 'thou' in it. The illustrious Eleonore has never compromised herself more than she does there. Marry, and try your luck! The worst marriage in the world is better than this sort of halter. Ah, I am the greatest Nicodemus that ever tumbled out of the moon! Modeste has millions, and I've lost her; for we can't get back from the poles, where we are to-day, to the tropics, where we were three days ago!
Well, I am all the more anxious for your triumph over the grand equerry, because I told the duchess I came here only for your sake;
and so I shall do my best for you."
"Alas, Melchior, Modeste must needs have so noble, so grand, so well-
balanced a nature to resist the glories of the Court, and all these splendors cleverly displayed for her honor and glory by the duke, that I cannot believe in the existence of such perfection,--and yet, if she is still the Modeste of her letters, there might be hope!"
"Well, well, you are a happy fellow, you young Boniface, to see the world and your mistress through green spectacles!" cried Canalis, marching off to pace up and down the garden.
Caught between two lies, the poet was at a loss what to do.
"Play by rule, and you lose!" he cried presently, sitting down in the kiosk. "Every man of sense would have acted as I did four days ago, and got himself out of the net in which I saw myself. At such times people don't disentangle nets, they break through them! Come, let us be calm, cold, dignified, affronted. Honor requires it; English stiffness is the only way to win her back. After all, if I have to retire finally, I can always fall back on my old happiness; a fidelity of ten years can't go unrewarded. Eleonore will arrange me some good marriage."