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 CHAPTER III

MONSIEUR L'ABBÉ

The crowd had passed on to witness the king's dinner, now in full progress, and the two soberly-clad friends found themselves the only occupants of the gardens. Side by side they took their seats on a bench under a row of lime-trees, and continued the conversation which had originated in little Cerise and her childish beauty.

"It is a face as God made it," said Florian, his boyish features lighting up with enthusiasm. "Children are surely nearer Heaven than ourselves. What a pity to think that they should grow into the painted, patched, powdered hypocrites, of whom so many have passed by us even now."

"Beautifully dressed, however," answered his worldly senior, placidly indifferent, as usual, to all that did not concern his own immediate comfort. "If there were no women, Florian, there would be no children, I conclude. Both seem necessary evils. You, I observe, prefer the lesser. As for being near Heaven, that, I imagine, is a mere question of altitude. The musketeer over there is at least a couple of inches nearer it than either of us. What matter? It will make little difference eventually to any one of the three."

Florian looked as if he did not understand. Indeed, the Abbé's manner preserved a puzzling uncertainty between jest and earnest. He took a pinch of snuff, too, with the air of a man who had thoroughly exhausted the question. But his companion, still harping on the beauty of the child, continued their conversation.

"Is she not a cousin of yours, this little angel? I know you are akin to that beautiful Marquise, her mother. Oh,