be attainted and convicted of being a coquette from instinct; in other words, the most dangerous kind of coquette which the world possesses."
"Oh! mesdemoiselles," replied La Valliere, blushing, and almost ready to weep. Her two companions again burst out laughing.
"Very well! I shall ask Bragelonne to tell me."
"Bragelonne?" said Athenais.
"Yes; Bragelonne, who is as courageous as Cæsar, and as clever and witty as Monsieur Fouquet. Poor fellow! for twelve years he has known you, loved you, and yet — one can hardly believe it — he has never even kissed the tips of your fingers."
"Tell us the reason of this cruelty, you who are all heart," said Athenais to La Valliere.
"I will explain it by a single word — virtue. You will perhaps deny the existence of virtue?"
"Come, Louise, tell us the truth," said Aure, taking her by the hand.
"What do you wish me to tell you?" cried Valliere.
"Whatever you like; but it will be useless for you to say anything, for I persist in my opinion of you, A coquette from instinct; in other words, as I have already said, and I say it again, the most dangerous of all coquettes."
"Oh! no, no; for pity's sake, do not believe that!"
"What! twelve years of extreme severity."
"How can that be, since twelve years ago I was only five years old. The freedom of the child cannot surely be added to the young girl's account."
"Well, you are now seventeen; three years instead of twelve. During those three years you have remained constantly and unchangeably cruel. Against you are arrayed the silent shades of Blois, the meetings when you diligently conned the stars together, the evening wanderings beneath the plantain-trees, his impassioned twenty years speaking to your fourteen summers, the fire of his glances addressed to yourself."
"Yes, yes; but so it is!"
"Impossible!"
"But why impossible?"
"Tell us something credible, and we will believe you."
"Yet, if you were to suppose one thing."
"What is that?"
"Suppose that I thought I was in love, and that I am not."
