"I will follow your advice. Thursday, I shall see f.a.n.n.y at her father's, and I will ask her permission to call on her."

"In that way," said Cherami to himself, "that poor girl won't have them making love under her nose, at all events."

XLIV

COQUETRY

Thursday arrived, and on that day a few faithful friends and some less faithful acquaintances were accustomed to meet at Monsieur Gerbault's in the evening and play cards. Among the faithful friends--faithful in their attendance, that is--were Messieurs Clairval and Batonnin; among those who came only occasionally was young Anatole de Raincy, who, like a well-bred youth, had not taken offence at Adolphine's refusal of his hand; and, being still a great lover of music, did not, because of that refusal, renounce the pleasure of singing duets with her.

Since f.a.n.n.y had been a widow, she had come regularly to her father's to dinner on Thursday; her sparkling conversation and her playful humor, upon which her bereavement had imposed silence for a fortnight at most, contributed not a little to the success of the evening party. The young widow, who knew that Anatole de Raincy had sought Adolphine's hand and had been refused, never failed, when she found herself in that young gentleman's company, to dart glances at him which might well have turned his head, but for the fact that, in order to captivate him, a woman must first of all possess a sweet voice; and f.a.n.n.y sang very little, and then her singing was not true.

So that Monsieur de Raincy did not respond to the glances of the pretty widow, who soon confided to her sister that that Monsieur Anatole was nothing but a canary; that he ought to be fed on nothing but chickweed.

On the day in question, Adolphine, when she was joined by her sister, whom she had not seen during the week, experienced a feeling of discomfort which she strove to overcome, saying to her hurriedly:

"I imagine that you will see someone here this evening whose presence will not be distasteful to you."

"Ah! whom do you expect this evening, pray?"

"Monsieur Gustave Darlemont."

"Gustave! Is it possible? Gustave has returned, and you haven't told me?"

"You have only just come; I couldn't tell you any sooner."

"But when did he return? When did you see him?"

"He came to see us on Monday; I believe he arrived in Paris the night before."

"What! he has been here since Monday, and I didn't know it! And he's coming to-night--you are quite sure? Did father invite him for to-night?"

"Father didn't actually invite him; but he knows that we receive on Thursdays, and, as he expressed a wish to visit us anew---- And then, he knows that he will meet you."

"Did he talk much about me? Does he act as if he still loved me? Oh!

tell me everything he said, little sister; don't forget a single thing.

It is very important; I must know what to expect."

Adolphine made an effort, and replied in a voice trembling with emotion:

"Yes, Monsieur Gustave told me that he still loved you, that he had never ceased to think of you."

"Oh! how sweet of him! There's constancy for you! And they say that men can't be faithful!--The poor fellows: how they are slandered! Dear Gustave! then he's well pleased that I am a widow, I suppose?"

"You can understand that he couldn't quite say that."

"No, no, but he thinks it; that's enough. And he's coming? Mon Dieu! how does my hair look? it seems to me that this cap hides my forehead too much."

"You look very well; and, besides, doesn't a woman always look well to her lover?"

"Oh! my dear girl, in order to please, one must always try to look pretty."

And f.a.n.n.y ran to a mirror; she arranged and rearranged her hair, took off her cap and put it on again; and finally tossed it aside, saying:

"I certainly look better without a cap."

"But, sister, I supposed that your mourning required----"

"My dear girl, I've been a widow more than six months; I have a right to arrange my head as I please, and when one has fine hair it's never a crime to show it."

During dinner, f.a.n.n.y talked incessantly of Gustave; Adolphine said nothing; Monsieur Gerbault let his elder daughter talk on, but he kept a serious countenance and looked frequently at Adolphine. At the time that she fainted at the idea that Gustave was dead, a sudden light had shone in upon her father's mind; but he had made no sign; he respected his younger daughter's secret, although at the bottom of his heart he was the more deeply touched by her suffering, because he could see no way of putting an end to it.

The dinner seemed horribly long to f.a.n.n.y; she asked for the coffee before her father had finished his dessert, and kept leaving the table to look at herself in the mirror. This manoeuvre was repeated so often that Monsieur Gerbault could not resist the temptation to say to her, with a smile:

"My dear, it seems to me that, for a widow, you are rather coquettish."

"In my opinion, father," she made haste to reply, "a widow is more excusable for being coquettish than a married woman whose husband is alive; for, you see, a widow is free."

"Yes, no doubt that is true, especially when she has been a widow a long while."

"Well, do you call six months nothing? And I am in my seventh!"

"Yes, indeed! yes, indeed!--Never mind; the story of the _Matron of Ephesus_ no longer seems improbable to me."

"What's that about the _Matron of Ephesus_? I don't know that story."

"It's a fable; but it might very well be history, after all."

"Ah! did someone ring?"

"I didn't hear anything."

"How late your people come!"

"Do you think so? It's only seven o'clock."

"Nonsense! Your clock is slow."

"It keeps excellent time."

"Oh! I don't know what's the matter with me; I can't keep still."

Adolphine followed her sister with her eyes, thinking:

"It's her love for him that makes her so coquettish and so impatient!

It's very funny; when he used to come before, I never thought of looking in my mirror; I thought of him, not of myself."