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After his death she lived with her mother in very straitened circumstances; and Lescande, on occasion of his last visit, found her with soiled cuffs. Immediately after he received the following note: "Pardon me, dear cousin! Pardon my not wearing white cuffs. But I must tell you that we can change our cuffs my mother and I only three times a week. As to her, one would never discover it.
The whole evening he scattered around the mother the social epigrams intended to dazzle the daughter; Lescande meanwhile sitting with his mouth open, delighted with the success of his old schoolfellow. Next afternoon, Camors, returning from his ride in the Bois, by chance passed the Avenue Maillot.
As he abandoned himself to these passionate imaginings, the recollection of young Madame Lescande came back suddenly to his memory. He grew pale in the darkness. At this moment he was passing the edge of a little wood belonging to the Comte de Tecle, of which a portion had recently been cleared. It was not chance alone that had directed the Count's ride to this point.
He experienced a flash of agreeable surprise on discovering that his friend was more happy in that respect than he had supposed. "I am about to be scolded, my friend," said Lescande, with a hearty laugh, "and you also must stay for your share. You will stay and breakfast with us?" Camors hesitated; then said, hastily, "No, no! Impossible! I have an engagement which I must keep."
Since she patronizes the turf and subscribes for 'The Sport', she says to me, 'Your friend's horse has won again'; and in our family circle we rejoice over your triumphs." A flush tinged the cheek of Camors as he answered, quietly, "You are really too good." They walked a moment in silence over the gravel path bordered by grass, before Lescande spoke again.
He was nicknamed "Wolfhead," from the refractory nature of his hair; but the elegant Camors stopped the scoffers by protecting the young man with his friendship. Lescande felt this deeply, and adored his friend, to whom he opened the inmost recesses of his heart, letting out some important secrets. He loved a very young girl who was his cousin, but was as poor as himself.
He experienced a flash of agreeable surprise on discovering that his friend was more happy in that respect than he had supposed. "I am about to be scolded, my friend," said Lescande, with a hearty laugh, "and you also must stay for your share. You will stay and breakfast with us?" Camors hesitated; then said, hastily, "No, no! Impossible! I have an engagement which I must keep."
But, although men in fencing wish to spare their adversaries, sometimes they find habit too strong for them, and lunge home in spite of themselves. Besides, he began to be really interested in Madame Lescande in her coquettish ways, at once artful and simple, provoking and timid, suggestive and reticent in short, charming.
He showed the note, and unfolded his plans to Camors. "This is the only ambition I have, or which I can have," added Lescande. "You are different. You are born for great things." "Listen, my old Lescande," replied Camors, who had just passed his rhetoric examination in triumph. "I do not know but that my destiny may be ordinary; but I am sure my heart can never be.
Lescande entered, and his first act dissipated the apprehension his conduct had caused. He rushed to the young Count and seized him by both hands, while Camors remarked that his face was troubled and his lips trembled. "Sit down and be calm," he said. "My friend," said the other, after a pause, "I come late to see you, for which I crave pardon; but I am myself so miserable! See, I am in mourning!"
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