"Why not, sire?" she asked with aggressive innocence.
"There can be no reason why not, mademoiselle," I replied, smiling.
We were interrupted by Varvilliers' arrival. He also had dined at the palace, and was in full dress.
"How gay my little house is to-night," drawled Coralie, as she rang the bell and ordered, in exactly the same manner, the descent of Madame Briande and the ascent of supper. Both orders were promptly obeyed, and we were left alone. Servants were never allowed to remain in waiting on these occasions.
Varvilliers was in fine vein that night, and Wetter seconded him. The one glittered with sharp-cut gems of speech, the other struck chords of deep and touching music. I played a more modest part, madame and Vohrenlorf were audience, Coralie seemed the judge whose hand was to award the prize. Yet she was indolent, and appeared to listen to no more than half of what was said. We finished eating and began to smoke; the wine still went round. Suddenly a pause fell on us. A mot from Varvilliers had set finis to our subject, and another delayed presenting itself. To my surprise Wetter turned to me.
"In the Chamber to-night, sire," he said, "there was a question about your marriage."
I perceived at once the malice which inspired his remark, but I answered him gaily, and in a tone that was in harmony with the scene.
"I wish to heaven," said I, "there were a question about it anywhere else. Alas, it is a certainty."
"Why, so is death, sire," cried Varvilliers, "but we do not discuss it at supper."
"Does M. de Varvilliers quarrel with my choice
