Beatrix seemed to listen to the music, but she was really observing Calyste, who, much too young and artless for the part which Camille was intending him to play, remained in rapt adoration before his real idol.

After about an hour, during which time Camille continued to play, Beatrix rose and retired to her apartments.  Camille at once took Calyste into her chamber and closed the door, fearing to be overheard; for women have an amazing instinct of distrust.

“My child,” she said, “if you want to succeed with Beatrix, you must seem to love me still, or you will fail.  You are a child; you know nothing of women; all you know is how to love.  Now loving and making one’s self beloved are two very different things.  If you go your own way you will fall into horrible suffering, and I wish to see you happy.  If you rouse, not the pride, but the self-will, the obstinacy which is a strong feature in her character, she is capable of going off at any moment to Paris and rejoining Conti; and what will you do then?”

“I shall love her.”

“You won’t see her again.”

“Oh! yes, I shall,” he said.

“How?”

“I shall follow her.”

“Why, you are as poor as Job, my dear boy.”

“My father, Gasselin, and I lived for three months in Vendee on one hundred and fifty francs, marching night and day.”

“Calyste,” said Mademoiselle des Touches, “now listen to me.  I know that you have too much candor to play a part, too much honesty to deceive; and I don’t want to corrupt such a nature as yours.  Yet deception is the only way by which you can win Beatrix; I take it therefore upon myself.  In a week from now she shall love you.”

“Is it possible?” he said clasping his hands.

“Yes,” replied Camille, “but it will be necessary to overcome certain pledges which she has made to herself.  I will do that for you.  You must not interfere in the rather arduous task I shall undertake.  The marquise has a true aristocratic delicacy of perception; she is keenly distrustful; no hunter could meet with game more wary or more difficult to capture.  You are wholly unable to cope with her; will you promise me a blind obedience?”

“What must I do?” replied the youth.

“Very little,” said Camille.  “Come here every day and devote yourself to me.  Come to my rooms; avoid Beatrix if you meet her.  We will stay together till four o’clock; you shall employ the time in study, and I in smoking.  It will be hard for you not to see her, but I will find you a number of interesting books.  You have read nothing as yet of George Sand.  I will send one of my people this very evening to Nantes to buy her works and those of other authors whom you ought to know.  The evenings we will spend together, and I permit you to make love to me if you can—­it will be for the best.”

“I know, Camille, that your affection for me is great and so rare that it makes me wish I had never met Beatrix,” he replied with simple good faith; “but I don’t see what you hope from all this.”