I refer to the brunette--not to the blond, with whom you were talking." "Ah, is the other a brunette?
I did not get a good look at her." "But she got a good look at you, while you were discussing the duties of women toward their husbands, the subject of divorce, and Heaven knows what else besides." "And did I awaken any unpleasant reminiscences ?" asked the young man.
"Not in the bosom of your fair antagonist,--she is already a widow,--but in that of her companion, who sat silent and listened to all you said.
She is on her way to Rome to petition the Pope to annul her marriage." "Is that so!" exclaimed Manasseh, in surprise.

"I should have said she was just out of a convent where she had been placed to be educated." "What eyes you have! Even without looking at her you have guessed her age to a month, I'll warrant! She is my client, the unfortunate Princess Cagliari, _nee_ Countess Blanka Zboroy.

You know the family: their estates are entailed, so that all but the eldest son have to shift for themselves as best they can.

The younger sons go into the army or the Church, and the daughters are wedded to rich husbands, or else they take the veil.

But it so happened that once upon a time a rich bishop belonging to this family made a will directing that his property be allowed to accumulate until it became large enough to provide a snug fortune of a million florins for each of his relatives; and this end was recently realised.