I know--I who address you, I know!" And she touched her breast where, very deeply seated it is to be presumed, she kept her own heart.
"Ah! Madame.

Who better ?" murmured the Abbe.
"Na, na!" exclaimed Madame de Chantonnay, holding up one hand, heavy with rings, while with the other she gathered her shawl closer about her as if for protection.

"Now you tread on dangerous ground, wicked one--WICKED! And you so demure in your soutane!" But the Abbe only laughed and held up his small glass after the manner of any abandoned layman drinking a toast.
"Madame," he said, "I drink to the hearts you have broken.

And now I go to arrange the card tables, for your guests will soon be coming." It was, in fact, Madame de Chantonnay's Thursday evening to which were bidden such friends as enjoyed for the moment her fickle good graces.
The Abbe Touvent was, so to speak, a permanent subscriber to these favours.

The task was easy enough, and any endowed with a patience to listen, a readiness to admire that excellent young nobleman, Albert de Chantonnay, and the credulity necessary to listen to the record (more hinted at than clearly spoken) of Madame's own charms in her youth, could make sure of a game of dominoes on the evening of the third Thursday in the month.
The Abbe bustled about, drawing cards and tables nearer to the lamps, away from the draught of the door, not too near the open wood fire.