La rifla-fla-fla-fla, la rifla--"

After which Pradeline rose, took from the mantlepiece a cigar that she deftly lighted, and proceeded to hum her refrain between the puffs of smoke that she blew out of her cherry lips. She then stretched herself at full length upon a lounge, and drove in silence the bluish smoke of her choice Havana towards the ceiling.

Forgetting the anger with which he was seized shortly before, the Count of Plouernel could not avoid laughing at the originality displayed by the young girl, and said:

"Come, my little pet; let us talk seriously. I am not asking for songs, but for advice."

"I must first be informed of the quarter of the town in which your love is located," observed the young girl dogmatically, turning over on the lounge. "The knowledge of the quarter is very important in such matters.

What may be done in one quarter, can not be done in another. Darling, there are prudish quarters, devout quarters, and _decollete_ quarters."

"Profoundly reasoned, my charmer. The influence of a quarter upon the virtue of its women is considerable. Without running any risk I may tell you that my shop-girl lives on St. Denis Street."

The young girl, who, stretched out upon the lounge, had been leisurely and nonchalantly rolling the clouds of smoke from her cigar before her, started at the mention of St. Denis Street, and rose so suddenly that the Count of Plouernel looked at her in astonishment, and cried:

"What the devil has come over you?"

"What has come over me--" answered Pradeline, quickly recovering her composure and wonted nonchalance, "what has come over me is that your horrible cigar has burnt me--but that's no matter. You were saying, darling, that your love is located in St. Denis Street? Well, now I have something to go by; but not yet enough."

"And you shall not learn any more, my little beauty."

"The pest take this cigar!" exclaimed Pradeline, again shaking her head.

"It will blister me! It will blister me surely!"

"Would you like some cold water?"

"No, it will soon be over. So, then, your love lives in St. Denis Street. You should also let me know--is the place at the head or the foot of the street? There is quite some difference between the head and the foot of a street, you must admit. The proof is, that the prices of the shops are dear at one end and cheap at the other. According as the rent runs high or low, a lover's generosity must keep step and be proportionately great or less so. You can not get over this positive fact."

"It is a very positive fact. Well, I shall confide to you that my love lives not far from the St. Denis Gate."

"I need put no further questions to render my opinion," said Pradeline with a voice that she was at great pains to modulate into comical tones.

Nevertheless, a closer observer than the Count of Plouernel would have noticed a vague shadow of uneasiness flit over the otherwise gay girl.

"Well, what is your advice?"

"First of all--you should--" but, suddenly breaking off, the young girl said:

"Someone raps at the door, darling."

"You think so?"

"I am quite certain. Listen! Don't you hear?"

In fact the rapping was renewed.

"Walk in!" cried the Count.

A valet presented himself, looking disconcerted, and said to the Count anxiously:

"Monsieur Count, his Eminence--"

"My uncle!" exclaimed the Count of Plouernel, looking no less disconcerted than his valet, and hastily rising to his feet.

"Yes, Monsieur Count. Monsignor the Cardinal arrived last night in the city from his trip abroad, and--"

"A Cardinal!" cried Pradeline, interrupting the valet with boisterous peals of laughter, already oblivious of the matters that seemed to preoccupy her mind a minute before. "A Cardinal! That's a rare sight!

That's a thing one does not find every day at Mabille's or at Valentino's! A Cardinal! I've never seen one. I must give myself a treat."

Whereupon she forthwith improvised to the tune of her favorite song:

"The young Queen Baccha.n.a.l She saw a Cardinal, And said: Let's have some fun, And make him dance and run-- La rifla-fla-fla-fla, la rifla-fla-fla-fla, La rifla-fla-fla-fla-fla-fla-fla!"

So saying, Pradeline raised the hem of her dress and started to pirouet around the room with great grace and utterly unconstrained, all the while singing her latest improvisation, while the valet, standing motionless at the half-opened door was with difficulty keeping a serious face, and the Count of Plouernel, nettled at the freedom of the brazen minx, called to her:

"Come, my dear; that's foolish; keep still."

Cardinal Plouernel, just announced, not caring to be kept waiting in his nephew's ante-chamber, and little imagining him to be in such profane company, had followed upon the heels of the valet, and entered the room just as Pradeline, throwing out her well shaped limb, undulated her upper body as she sang:

"Oh, let us have some fun, And make him dance and run!

La rifla-fla-fla-fla, la rifla--"

At the sight of the Cardinal the Count of Plouernel ran to the door, and repeatedly and effusively embracing his uncle, gently pushed him back into the salon from which he came. The valet, like the experienced menial that he was, discreetly shut the door of the boudoir upon his master, and drew the bolt.

CHAPTER V.

CARDINAL AND COUNT.

Cardinal Plouernel was a man of sixty-five years of age, lean, lank and leathery of skin. Except for the difference in age, he was possessed of the identical type of face as his nephew. His long neck, bald head, large and crooked nose like the beak of a bird of prey, and wide-set, round and penetrating eyes, imparted to his physiognomy, if a.n.a.lyzed and the high grade of intelligence that they denoted left out of consideration, a singular resemblance to that of a vulture.

To sum up, the priest, if clad in his red robes of Prince of the Church, could not choose but present a fear-inspiring aspect. On a visit to his nephew, he was clad simply in a long black coat, strictly b.u.t.toned up to his throat.

"Pardon, dear uncle," said the Count, smiling. "Not being aware of your return to town, I did not expect this mat.i.tudinal call."

The Cardinal was not the man to be astonished at a colonel of dragoons keeping a mistress. He made answer in his brief manner:

"I am pressed for time. Let us talk to the point. On my way from abroad I made a wide tour through France. We are on the verge of a revolution."

"Indeed, uncle?" asked the colonel incredulously. "Do you really believe--"

"I believe a revolution is at hand."

"But, uncle--"

"Have you available funds about you? If not, I can help you out."

"Funds--what for?"