From the age of
eighteen to sixty, Mars nor Venus had withheld their favors. He was a
Henri IV without a crown."
"Like that good father of mine," said the Chevalier, scowling.
"His sixtieth birthday came, and it was then he found that the garden
of pleasure, that had offered so many charming flowers for his
plucking, had drawn to its end. Behind, there were only souvenirs;
before, nothing but barren fields. Suddenly he remembered that he had
forgotten to marry. A name such as his must not sink into oblivion.
He must have a wife, young and innocent. He did not seek love; in this
his heart was as a cinder on a dead hearth. He desired an ornament to
grace his home, innocence to protect his worldly honor. Strange, how
these men who have tasted all fruits, the bitter and the sweet, should
in their old age crave the companionship of youth and innocence. So he
cast about. Being rich, he waived the question of any dowry save
beauty and birth. A certain lady-in-waiting, formerly, to the queen,
solved the problem for him. In a month her daughter would leave her
convent, fresh and innocent as the dews of morning.
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