"I am afraid of incommoding you. I have someone with me."

"Your German? There is a seat behind the carriage."

"Very well, I accept, mademoiselle."

"Ah! that is very kind of you!"

Once more Mademoiselle Derbin was in a charming humor. She arranged a drive for the day, intending to visit some points of view in the neighborhood of which someone had told her. We must be ready in an hour; she left us to attend to her toilette; we were to have no sitting for the portrait that day.

Caroline was a spoiled child; that was evident from her wilful manner, from her fits of impatience when her whims were not gratified; but she was so attractive, so fascinating when she chose to be agreeable, that it was really difficult to resist her. I believed that she had an affectionate, susceptible heart, a little inclined to enthusiasm perhaps. The interest that she manifested in me troubled me sometimes; I dreaded lest she should be in love with me. I dreaded it, because that love could not make her happy; but in the depths of my heart I should have been flattered, yes, enchanted; for our self-esteem is always more readily listened to than our reason.

To divert my mind from such ideas, I gazed at my daughter's portrait, I asked her pardon for not returning to her at once; but I knew that she was with Ernest and his wife, and I was certain that she was well and that they often talked to her about me.

The hour for our drive arrived and I joined Mademoiselle Derbin and her uncle. Caroline wore a lovely costume; her great dark eyes shone with a deeper light than usual; they expressed pleasure and satisfaction.

"Do you think that I look well in this dress, monsieur?" she asked.

"I think that you always look well, mademoiselle."

"Is that true? Do you mean what you say?"

"To be sure I do. Besides, I am only the echo of the whole world."

"I do not like to have you an echo; I don't ask you what other people say; that is entirely indifferent to me."

We were just about starting when Caroline exclaimed:

"By the way, suppose I should invite Madame Blemont to go with us?"

"You know very well that she is ill, mademoiselle; she will refuse."

"A drive cannot fail to do her good. I am going to ask her."

"You are taking useless trouble, mademoiselle."

"We will see about that, monsieur."

She paid no heed to me and left us. But I was not alarmed; Eugenie certainly would not accept.

Monsieur Roquencourt came up to me and, pointing to his waistcoat, which was made of white silk, with colored flowers, and cut after the style of Louis XV, said to me:

"What do you think of this waistcoat?"

"It is very original."

"I wore it in the part of Monsieur de Crac."

"I can well imagine that it must be very effective on the stage."

"All the ladies raved over it; but I played Monsieur de Crac very nicely too. In the first place, I talk Gascon as well as if I were a native of Toulouse, and Dugazon gave me a few lessons for that part. My first lines were admirable:

"'Enfants, pet.i.ts laquais que je ne loge pas, Je suis content; allez, je pairai vos papas.

On ne me vit jamais prodigue de louanges, Mais ils ont rabattu comme des pet.i.ts anges.'"

Monsieur Roquencourt might have recited the whole play if he pleased, for I was not listening to him; I was awaiting Mademoiselle Derbin's return most impatiently. At last she appeared, and, as I hoped, alone; there was an expression of something more than annoyance on her face.

"Let us go, messieurs," she said; "Monsieur Dalbreuse predicted that my trouble would be thrown away; Madame Blemont refuses to come with us."

We entered the carriage and began our drive. I was most anxious to know what those ladies had said to each other, but I dared not question Caroline. She saved me the trouble, for she said, gazing earnestly at me:

"Monsieur Dalbreuse, do you know Madame Blemont?"

"I, know that lady? Why,--no, mademoiselle."

"You act as if you weren't quite sure."

"I beg your pardon, but why did you ask me that question?"

"Because she did nothing but talk about you all the time I was with her; asking me if I had known you long, if we had ever met anywhere before.

That struck me as rather strange. When I told her that we intended to return to Paris together, she made a wry face. Ha! ha! it is very amusing.--And you say that you never met her in Paris?"

"No, mademoiselle."

"Then you apparently made a conquest of her last night; isn't that so, uncle?"

"My dear girl, what would there be so extraordinary in that? I myself made ten conquests in the part of Figaro. To be sure, my cherry and white costume was very elegant."

"It seems that Monsieur Dalbreuse does not need to be dressed as Figaro in order to fascinate the ladies. I confess that this particular one does not attract me so much as she did. I looked closely at her this morning. Great heaven! such thinness! such pallor! She certainly can never have been very pretty."

I was on the point of contradicting her, but I restrained myself and said nothing.

After a drive of several hours, we returned to the hotel. We noticed much commotion among the people of the house, and a servant informed us that new guests had arrived: two English lords and their ladies, and a gentleman from Paris, who alone made as much fuss as four people.

Caroline went at once to change her dress, in order to outshine the Englishwomen, and perhaps also to turn the heads of the Englishmen and the Parisian.

I returned to my room and reflected upon what Mademoiselle Derbin had told me of her conversation with Madame Blemont. What did my intimacy with Caroline or with any woman matter to Eugenie? Was I not at liberty to dispose of my heart as I chose? But women have so much self-esteem that even when they no longer love you they are vexed to see that you follow their example. Men are much the same too.

I went without apprehension to the evening reception, being fully persuaded that Madame Blemont would not be tempted to appear.

There were many people in the salon. The English party was already there; the two young women were young and pretty and their travelling companions--I did not know whether they were their husbands--paid no attention to them, but were already deep in politics with the Spaniard and some Frenchmen. Several young men were already playing the gallant with the young women. I joined Mademoiselle Derbin, who was almost deserted for the new arrivals, although they were not to be compared with her.

I sat down beside her; I was pleased to see that she was not annoyed at the desertion of her little court.

"So you don't do like the rest?" she said with a smile; "you don't go to offer incense to the strangers?"

"I have no inclination to do so; why should one change when one is well off?"

"That often happens, however."