When the marquis presented him with that of Mademoiselle de Montbazon, together with his desires, he had ground the one under foot without glancing at it, and had laughed at the other as preposterous.

Since that night the marquis had ceased to recall his name.

The Chevalier's mother had died at his birth; thus, he knew neither maternal nor paternal love; and a man must love something which is common with his blood.

Even now he would have gone half-way, had his father's love come to meet him.

But no; Monsieur le Marquis loved only his famous wines, his stories, and his souvenirs.
Bah! this daughter had been easily consoled.