This speech is the moral of my story—­from the aristocratic point of view.

“That is past and over,” said the Duchesse de Maufrigneuse.  “Now we must think of saving that poor Madame de Serizy, Clotilde, and me——­”

“We can but wait for Henri; I have sent to him.  But everything really depends on the man Gentil is gone to fetch.  God grant that man may be in Paris!—­Madame,” he added to Madame Camusot, “thank you so much for having thought of us——­”

This was Madame Camusot’s dismissal.  The daughter of the court usher had wit enough to understand the Duke; she rose.  But the Duchess de Maufrigneuse, with the enchanting grace which had won her so much friendship and discretion, took Amelie by the hand as if to show her, in a way, to the Duke and Duchess.

“On my own account,” said she, “to say nothing of her having been up before daybreak to save us all, I may ask for more than a remembrance for my little Madame Camusot.  In the first place, she has already done me such a service as I cannot forget; and then she is wholly devoted to our side, she and her husband.  I have promised that her Camusot shall have advancement, and I beg you above everything to help him on, for my sake.”

“You need no such recommendation,” said the Duke to Madame Camusot.  “The Grandlieus always remember a service done them.  The King’s adherents will ere long have a chance of distinguishing themselves; they will be called upon to prove their devotion; your husband will be placed in the front——­”

Madame Camusot withdrew, proud, happy, puffed up to suffocation.  She reached home triumphant; she admired herself, she made light of the public prosecutor’s hostility.  She said to herself: 

“Supposing we were to send Monsieur de Granville flying——­”

It was high time for Madame Camusot to vanish.  The Duc de Chaulieu, one of the King’s prime favorites, met the bourgeoise on the outer steps.

“Henri,” said the Duc de Grandlieu when he heard his friend announced, “make haste, I beg of you, to get to the Chateau, try to see the King —­the business of this;” and he led the Duke into the window-recess, where he had been talking to the airy and charming Diane.

Now and then the Duc de Chaulieu glanced in the direction of the flighty Duchess, who, while talking to the pious Duchess and submitting to be lectured, answered the Duc de Chaulieu’s expressive looks.

“My dear child,” said the Duc de Grandlieu to her at last, the aside being ended, “do be good!  Come, now,” and he took Diane’s hands, “observe the proprieties of life, do not compromise yourself any more, write no letters.  Letters, my dear, have caused as much private woe as public mischief.  What might be excusable in a girl like Clotilde, in love for the first time, had no excuse in——­”

“An old soldier who has been under fire,” said Diane with a pout.

This grimace and the Duchess’ jest brought a smile to the face of the two much-troubled Dukes, and of the pious Duchess herself.