"Ah! you not rifal of me. Gif me your hand; ve pe gut frents, ve untershtand each oder, ve tell each oder all ve haf onto our hearts."

And Herr von Brunzbrack put one of his hands to his breast, shook his head violently, and stamped on the floor like a horse anxious to leave the stable. I hastened to give him my hand, which he squeezed until he hurt me, repeating:

"Ve pe gut frents. Montame, she not bleeze you, hein?"

"We need not go so far, monsieur le baron; I beg you to believe that I do full justice to madame's wit and grace and abundant charms."

"Oh! enough! enough!" cried Frederique; "you will alarm him. Just tell him simply that you are not at all in love with me and never expect to be."

I do not know why I was reluctant to say that; I looked at the graceful folds of Frederique's gown, and did not reply.

"You see, my dear Herr von Brunzbrack," continued our amiable hostess, "I thought it best to tell you that Monsieur Rochebrune does not love me, that his heart is engrossed by another; in short, that you must not look upon him as a rival, for I saw you glaring at him with your big eyes, which are very savage when they are not very sweet; and because it is more agreeable to me to see perfect harmony between my guests. But do not reason from that, that other men do not make love to me, and that I do not love anybody. I have told you that you would never be my lover, so that you have no rights over me; and whenever it pleases me, even in your presence, to allow myself to be made love to, remember that you will have no right to say the least little word. Otherwise, it's all over between us; I withdraw my friendship, and I see you no more."

The baron heaved a sigh that reminded me of the low notes of the stout singer I had heard that evening. He beat his brow, gazed at the ceiling, then took my hand and shook it so that he nearly put my shoulder out of joint.

"Ah! my gut frent," he murmured, "montame can pe fery unkind. I know not how to say. But, nefer mind, ve must do als she say. But alvays shall I loafe her; alvays shall I loafe her madly."

"As for that," said Frederique, "you may do as you please; I have no further concern with it. But I am not at all worried about your future repose. When a man sees that he cannot retain any hope, he soon ceases to love."

"Not te Prussian! Nein! nein! te more unhappier he is, te more constant he is!"

"So much the worse for the Prussian, then; the best thing he can do is to adopt the French fashion. But we have had enough of love and of unveiling the secrets of our hearts; you must understand, baron, that this subject of conversation would soon become monotonous to us all. I propose that we don't have any more of it at supper."

"Madame is served," said a footman.

"Bravo! Come, messieurs, give me a hand each. I will escort you.

Remember that I command here, and that I must be obeyed."

"Here and everywhere, madame."

"Ja," said the baron, "eferyvere and elsevere."

XIX

THE LITTLE SUPPER PARTY

Frederique led us through a narrow hall, at the end of which we entered a small room, well carpeted and deliciously warm; in each corner, and between the windows, were boxes of growing flowers. The apartment was too elegant for a dining-room, and not enough so for a boudoir. A table was laid there, with all the luxurious appointments that add so much to the charm of a repast.

"This, messieurs, is what I call my _Pet.i.t Trianon_, or my _pet.i.ts appartements_--that is to say, it is the room where I receive my friends. I need not tell you that my husband is never admitted here. I believe that you did not come here to see him. We are like the sun and the moon: we are never seen together unless there is some serious disturbance in the solar system. As we have agreed that each of us shall enjoy absolute liberty, we live up to our agreement."

"Ten id is apsoludely as if you haf no husbant, hein? Ha! ha!"

"Oh! it isn't the same thing, by any means.--To table, messieurs!"

We took our places, Frederique between us, of course. Her affable, unconventional manner instantly put her guests at their ease. The baron was radiant; he rolled his eyes about, and kept repeating:

"Ich loafe sehr viel your _bet.i.t Trille-anon_."

"Flowers everywhere!" I said, glancing at those on the table, and at the boxes that surrounded us.

"Yes, I adore them; I must always have some about me."

"Birds of a feather flock together."

"Oh! my dear Rochebrune, pray don't put me on a diet of insipid compliments! I detest them. I prefer the volnay. Come, messieurs, drink!

Do you prefer chambertin--or pomard? You have only to speak."

"I should mit bleazure trink all te drei."

"And you are quite right. Vive variety! It is charming, isn't it, messieurs?"

"It's very nice, in the matter of wine."

"And in everything else! own up to it, hypocrite!"

"I am too honest to contradict you."

"That's right! Why, see my flowers--how lovely they are! these roses and camellias and hyacinths and cactuses! Would the bouquet be so pretty, if I had nothing but roses?"

"Evidently, flowers are your pa.s.sion."

"Faith! yes; and I believe the only one I have ever had thus far.

Perhaps that is the reason I have been so frivolous, so fickle."

"I vould like to pe a tulib," murmured the baron.

"You choose ill, baron; the tulip has very little charm for me; I care little for odorless flowers."

"In tat case, I vould like to pe--a beony."

"Ha! ha! ha! you are not happy in your choice of flowers. Well, messieurs, what did you think of Monsieur Sordeville's reception? Was the concert good? I arrived very late."

"Faith! that was lucky for your ears; for there were a lady and a gentleman who put us to a severe test. By the way, a young man, with a very light complexion, sang some ballads tolerably well. Who was he, I wonder? He talked a good deal with Madame Sordeville."

"Oh! I know: it was Mondival. He's very good-looking, but a fool; he's conceited, and I hate conceited men. I prefer them ugly--and clever. I don't mean that for you, messieurs."

And the fair Frederique laughed aloud. The baron felt called upon to follow suit. I said nothing, for I was thinking of Armantine. My neighbor, noticing my serious face, nudged me with her knee.

"Well! he has nothing to say!" she exclaimed. "Have I offended you? But, no--I said nothing that was meant for you."

"Offended me? How, pray?"

"He doesn't even know what I said! He's thinking of his Armantine; I was sure of it! Do you love her so much, then--with all your heart, as they say?"