CHAPTER XI.
A SPRAT AND THE WHALE.
A few moments were enough for the two to enter the chateau again, where their absence had begun to arouse curiosity, though the guests were too well bred to make general remarks.

With the cue that these "slow," tame gatherings were but the cloak to more important conclaves, Cesarine studied them as never before.

It was clear.

Here and there were groups which did not waste a word on the accent of Mademoiselle Delaporte, the early history of Aimee Derclee, or the latest episode in the stage and boudoir history of "the Beauty who is also the Stupid Beast." For a certainty, conspiracy went on here at the gates of the capital; perhaps from the pretty belvedere, where the large telescope was mounted for lovers to see Venus, the sons of Mars ascertained where the batteries of siege guns should be planted to shell Parisian palaces and forts.
Two of a trade never agree, says the wisdom of our ancestors, and from that time Cesarine detested Gratian.

If he so easily betrayed his friends, countrymen and employers for her, what might he not do as regards her when she was older and her bloom vanished?
Better not place herself under his thumb and be cast off, in some remote, barbarous region, when the caprice had worn out.