wanted peace, nothing but peace, and everything had proved it in a blinding fashion for eighteen years; everything—­his arguments, his alliances, that union of peoples banded together against our impetuosity.  M. de Guilleroy concluded in a tone of profound conviction:  “He is a great man, a very great man, who desires peace, but who has faith only in menaces and violent means as the way to obtain it.  In short, gentlemen, a great barbarian.”

“He that wishes the end must take the means,” M. de Musadieu replied.  “I will grant you willingly that he adores peace if you will concede to me that he always wishes to make war in order to obtain it.  But that is an indisputable and phenomenal truth:  In this world war is made only to obtain peace!”

A servant announced:  “Madame la Duchesse de Mortemain.”

Between the folding-doors appeared a tall, large woman, who entered with an air of authority.

Guilleroy hastened to meet her, and kissed her hand, saying: 

“How do you do, Duchess?”

The other two men saluted her with a certain distinguished familiarity, for the Duchess’s manner was both cordial and abrupt.

She was the widow of General the Duc de Mortemain, mother of an only daughter married to the Prince de Salia; daughter of the Marquis de Farandal, of high family and royally rich, and received at her mansion in the Rue de Varenne all the celebrities of the world, who met and complimented one another there.  No Highness passed through Paris without dining at her table; no man could attract public attention that she did not immediately wish to know him.  She must see him, make him talk to her, form her own judgment of him.  This amused her greatly, lent interest to life, and fed the flame of imperious yet kindly curiosity that burned within her.

She had hardly seated herself when the same servant announced: 

“Monsieur le Baron and Madame la Baronne de Corbelle.”

They were young; the Baron was bald and fat, the Baroness was slender, elegant, and very dark.

This couple occupied a peculiar situation in the French aristocracy due solely to a scrupulous choice of connections.  Belonging to the polite world, but without value or talent, moved in all their actions by an immoderate love of that which is select, correct, and distinguished; by dint of visiting only the most princely houses, of professing their royalist sentiments, pious and correct to a supreme degree; by respecting all that should be respected, by condemning all that should be condemned, by never being mistaken on a point of worldly dogma or hesitating over a detail of etiquette, they had succeeded in passing in the eyes of many for the finest flower of high life.  Their opinion formed a sort of code of correct form and their presence in a house gave it a true title of distinction.

The Corbelles were relatives of the Comte de Guilleroy.

“Well,” said the Duchess in astonishment, “and your wife?”