"With what alacrity he flies to arms that he may defend you, even with his life." "M.

d'Ombreval is behaving according to his lights," answered Suzanne coldly.
"Ma foi, then his lights are unspeakably dim," was the contemptuous answer.
Mademoiselle gave no outward sign of the deep wound her pride was receiving.

The girl of nineteen, who had scorned the young secretary-lover in the park of Bellecour that morning four years ago, was developed into a handsome lady of three-and-twenty.
"It would be beneath the dignity of his station to soil his hands in such a conflict as my father has suggested," she said at last.
"I wonder would it be beneath the dignity of his courage," mused the same caustic friend.

"But surely not, for nothing could be beneath that." "Madame!" exclaimed Suzanne, her cheeks reddening; for as of old, and like her father, she was quickly moved to anger.

"Will it please you to remember that M.d'Ombreval is my affianced husband ?" "True," confessed the lady, no whit abashed.