'Tis
now three years since Mademoiselle Adrienne d'Azay finished her studies
at the Couvent de Marmoutier ('tis an old abbaye on the banks of the
Loire, Calvert, near Azay-le-Roi, the chateau of the d'Azay family) and
came to dazzle all Paris under the chaperonage of her great aunt, the
old Duchesse d'Azay. As you have seen her portrait--and, I dare say,
remember its smallest detail--I will spare you the recital of those
charms which captivated half the young gentlemen of our world on her
first appearance at court. She became the rage, and, before six months
had passed, Madame d'Azay had arranged a marriage with the rich old St.
Andre. She would sell her own soul for riches, Calvert; judge,
therefore, how willingly she would sell her niece's soul." He paused an
instant and tapped impatiently on the table for another glass of cognac.
"It was a great match, I suppose," hazarded Calvert.
"Oh, yes; Monsieur de St. Andre was a man high in the confidence of both
the King and Queen--and let me tell thee, 'tis no easy matter to please
_both_ the King and Queen--and a man of rank and fortune.
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