who finds himself burdened with aching brains in this best of all possible worlds.
"Perhaps, after all, you were right," said the Duc de St. Louis, driving back into the town with Della Rocca that night. "Perhaps you were right, Miladi is most lovely, most exquisite, most perfect. But she has caprices—there is no denying that she has caprices and extravagancies which would ruin any one short of the despotic sovereign of a very wealthy nation."
The Duc was a very wise man, and knew that the escalier dérobé is the only way that leads in conversation to any direct information. Their demeanour had puzzled him, and he spoke accordingly with shrewd design.
Della Rocca heard him with a little annoyance.
"She has not more caprices than other women that I know of," he answered. "Her faults are the faults rather of her monde than of herself."
"But she has adopted them with much affection!"
"They are habits—hardly more."
