But although Monsieur de Ventadour, a frivolous and profligate Frenchman, seemed utterly indifferent as to what his wife chose to do--and in the society in which Valerie lived, almost every lady had her cavalier,--yet Maltravers would have started with incredulity or dismay had any one accused him of a systematic design on her affections.

But he was living with the world, and the world affected him as it almost always does every one else.
Still he had, at times, in his heart, the feeling that he was not fulfilling his proper destiny and duties; and when he stole from the brilliant resorts of an unworthy and heartless pleasure, he was ever and anon haunted by his old familiar aspirations for the Beautiful, the Virtuous, and the Great.

However, hell is paved with good intentions; and so, in the meanwhile, Ernest Maltravers surrendered himself to the delicious presence of Valerie de Ventadour.
One evening, Maltravers, Ferrers, the French minister, a pretty Italian, and the Princess di ------, made the whole party collected at Madame de Ventadour's.

The conversation fell upon one of the tales of scandal relative to English persons, so common on the Continent.
"Is it true, Monsieur," said the French minister, gravely, to Lumley, "that your countrymen are much more immoral than other people?
It is very strange, but in every town I enter, there is always some story in which _les Anglais_ are the heroes.

I hear nothing of French scandal--nothing of Italian--_toujours les Anglais_." "Because we are shocked at these things, and make a noise about them, while you take them quietly.