“The daughter of ‘Grand-Jacques,’” cried the chevalier, who had lived with the admiral during his stay in Paris.

“The countess is his heir; she has married an old ambassador.  My visitor told me the strangest things about our neighbor, Mademoiselle des Touches,—­so strange that I can’t believe them.  If they were true, Calyste would never be so constantly with her; he has too much good sense not to perceive such monstrosities—­”

“Monstrosities?” said the baron, waked up by the word.

The baroness and the rector exchanged looks.  The cards were dealt; Mademoiselle de Pen-Hoel had Mistigris!  Impossible to continue the conversation!  But she was glad to hide her joy under the excitement caused by her last word.

“Your play, monsieur le baron,” she said, with an air of importance.

“My nephew is not one of those youths who like monstrosities,” remarked Zephirine, taking out her knitting-needle and scratching her head.

“Mistigris!” cried Mademoiselle de Pen-Hoel, making no reply to her friend.

The rector, who appeared to be well-informed in the matter of Calyste and Mademoiselle des Touches, did not enter the lists.

“What does she do that is so extraordinary, Mademoiselle des Touches?” asked the baron.

“She smokes,” replied Mademoiselle de Pen-Hoel.

“That’s very wholesome,” said the chevalier.

“About her property?” asked the baron.

“Her property?” continued the old maid.  “Oh, she is running through it.”

“The game is mine!” said the baroness.  “See, I have king, queen, knave of trumps, Mistigris, and a king.  We win the basket, sister.”

This victory, gained at one stroke, without playing a card, horrified Mademoiselle de Pen-Hoel, who ceased to concern herself about Calyste and Mademoiselle des Touches.  By nine o’clock no one remained in the salon but the baroness and the rector.  The four old people had gone to their beds.  The chevalier, according to his usual custom, accompanied Mademoiselle de Pen-Hoel to her house in the Place de Guerande, making remarks as they went along on the cleverness of the last play, on the joy with which Mademoiselle Zephirine engulfed her gains in those capacious pockets of hers,—­for the old blind woman no longer repressed upon her face the visible signs of her feelings.  Madame du Guenic’s evident preoccupation was the chief topic of conversation, however.  The chevalier had remarked the abstraction of the beautiful Irish woman.  When they reached Mademoiselle de Pen-Hoel’s door-step, and her page had gone in, the old lady answered, confidentially, the remarks of the chevalier on the strangely abstracted air of the baroness:—­

“I know the cause.  Calyste is lost unless we marry him promptly.  He loves Mademoiselle des Touches, an actress!”

“In that case, send for Charlotte.”

“I have sent; my sister will receive my letter to-morrow,” replied Mademoiselle de Pen-Hoel, bowing to the chevalier.