I had done all that I could, all that it was possible for me to do at that moment for Mignonne; and I felt better satisfied with myself. I determined to forget her for a while and think of my new love.

I made up my mind to go to Monsieur Sordeville's on Thursday. I must wait until then to see the charming Armantine. The intervening four days seemed very long. There are some men who kill time and shorten the period of separation by talking of their loved one with their friends; but I have never had confidants; true love is always better placed in the depths of our hearts than in the memory of indifferent persons, who take no interest in it, or recall it only to laugh at us if we are betrayed, to call us fools if we are loyal, to envy us if we are happy. Moreover, is it true that we have any real friends? For my own part, I know of none. In my youth, I believed in the friendship of some young men with whom I was often thrown in parties of pleasure; at that time, over-flowing with confidence, I asked nothing better than to lay bare my heart, to devote myself in all sincerity to those who pressed my hand; but I was very ill repaid for my frankness and my kindliness. My delusions were destroyed too soon, and I held aloof from men and drew nearer to women; I have never repented of it, for in friendship women are infinitely superior to men.

I do not call those people my friends whom I meet by chance at parties or dinners, like Balloquet and DuprÉval; they are acquaintances, nothing more.

Thursday arrived, and I betook myself to Monsieur Sordeville's, on Rue Neuve-Saint-Augustin: a handsome house, handsome hall, handsome apartments; a servant to announce the guests; all the externals which indicate opulence. I entered a very spacious salon, in which there were already many people, and passed rapidly through a throng of unfamiliar faces. Monsieur Sordeville left a group of men, with whom he was talking, to come to meet me and shake hands as if we were old friends. I could not help laughing inwardly at the prodigious expenditure of handshakings in society, among people who know one another as little as Monsieur Sordeville and myself, and often are not at all fond of one another. 'Tis a pity; it would be so pleasant to have one's hand shaken, if it were to be depended upon as an assurance of affection and good will. But men have spoiled everything, and the most expressive words and gestures mean nothing now, because they have been so abused.

Monsieur Sordeville, still holding my hand and pressing it, took me to his wife.

"My dear," he said, "here is Monsieur Rochebrune, who has been good enough to accept our invitation."

The charming Armantine wore a fascinating gown, with infinite grace and coquetry. I did not recognize in her the unconstraint of my partner at Mademoiselle Guillardin's wedding party,—to-day she was a true petite-maÎtresse, a little affected, and a little ceremonious too. But she was a very seductive woman still. Moreover, it was natural enough that in her own house she should be more punctilious in her manners than at a wedding ball. Doubtless it seemed to her becoming to assume a more dignified bearing to receive her guests; a hostess is a different person from a guest at a party, who has not to play a leading part.

It was too bad! she was so attractive at the ball! she laughed so readily, and seemed to invite one to laugh with her. However, she did the honors of her salon very gracefully; she welcomed me with an affable smile, and thanked me as her husband had done for remembering their invitation. I cannot say what answer I made; my eyes must have said more than my mouth. I tried to detect in her eyes an expression that would at least tell me that she understood me, that she guessed my meaning; but I saw only that gracious smile with which she received the homage of all the men who came up to salute her.

A person is always awkward and embarrassed in a company to which he is an entire stranger, and where he can find no familiar face. I walked away from Madame Sordeville, as it was impossible for me to stand staring at her; that would have made me look like a fool, and would not have advanced my interests at all. With women whom one is anxious to please, one should, above all things, avoid looking like a fool; to be sure, that does not always depend on one's self.

I looked about for Madame Dauberny; I looked forward to meeting her there, because she had seemed to me to be very intimate with the mistress of the house. I did not see her. Men were in a large majority; why were there so few women, and, above all, so few pretty ones? Was it intentional on the part of the hostess? Surely she was pretty enough to fear no rivalry!

The guests were chatting together in groups in different parts of the salon. There was a piano, but thus far there had been no suggestion of music. I walked into another room, where two whist tables were in operation. There were fewer people there. If she should come into that room, I could talk more freely with her. But she was too busily engaged in receiving her guests and listening to the compliments they paid her; she seemed to me to be a great flirt. It has frequently been said that all women are—the desire to please is so natural! As if men were not flirts, too! Everybody wishes to produce an impression: the ugly man seeks to please by his wit; this one by his magnificence, another by his generosity, another by his attentions, his servility, his flatteries; but the end is always the same. So, let us not blame women for being coquettish; nature, when endowing them with beauty, grace, and charm, seems to have taught them what use they could make of these advantages. But the one person that I cannot endure is a capricious woman; is there anything more insufferable than to be greeted coldly or sulkily, when you do not know the reason and have done nothing to deserve it? Certainly I had no right to complain of Madame Sordeville; still, after her friendly treatment of me at the wedding party, after the sort of intimacy which the disclosure of my secret had at once established between us, I had flattered myself that she would receive me less ceremoniously. But I must wait and see.

Monsieur Sordeville came to me and asked me if I cared for whist.

"I like all games," I replied.

An old gentleman, who closed his eyes when he spoke, as if he were going to sleep, joined us; I had no idea what he said, for the fascinating Armantine entered the room where we were, and I followed her with my eyes. A handsome young man with light hair was walking behind her, talking to her in an undertone—at least, so it seemed to me; the pretty creature laughed heartily, with divers little gestures and expressions that would have brought a regiment to terms. I was annoyed; it was unreasonable of me, perhaps, but I could not bear to have her listen so to that fellow; I was strongly tempted to join in their conversation. But it was impossible; the man who talked with his eyes closed was telling me things that must have been very interesting, judging from the way he emphasized every syllable. Mon Dieu! what tiresome people there are in the world! But, among the various species, the most insufferable, in my opinion, is the man who never stops talking, who joins the story he tells you on to another one, which in turn becomes entangled in a third, after the style of the Thousand and One Nights; so that he is quite capable of keeping you a whole evening in a corner of the salon, without ever giving you a chance of escape, unless you decide boldly to break away from him in the middle of one of his tales.

I have no idea how my conversation with those two gentlemen veered around to politics, of which I have a perfect horror. I discovered to my surprise that Monsieur Sordeville was in government employ and already hinted at opposition. But it did not interest me. I was tempted to close my eyes, like the old gentleman; then I should be more at liberty to think of something else. Luckily, someone began to play on the piano, and gave me an excuse for leaving my politicians.

I returned to the salon, and approached the mistress of the house, intending to say something agreeable to her. But I did not know how to begin the conversation, and I finally asked her if she were going to sing.

"No, I don't sing; but I am ready to play an accompaniment, if anybody wants me to."

"Do you play the piano?"

"Yes, monsieur; and you?"

"A little."

"Do you sing?"

"Only at home, when I am alone."

"Ha! ha! that's selfishness."

"Prudence, rather."

"Surely you will depart from your habit this evening, and sing in company?"

"Oh, no! I should not dare to, before you."

"Why so? do I frighten you?"

"You do something very different."

She smiled, as she smiled at the ball. Ah! how sweet she was at that moment!

But somebody spoke to her, and I was separated from her again. Someone was going to sing, and silence was requested; I took a seat behind two consummately ugly women, who would not distract my thoughts.

The singer was a man, a stout, square-shouldered young man, who struck an attitude like Monsieur Keller as Hercules. I expected a voice that would make our ears ring and the windows rattle; surely nothing different could come from that colossus. In truth, at the first note everybody shuddered. What a voice! indeed, I doubt if it could be called a voice. For my part, I could think of nothing but the roaring of a bull. But there were some people who thought it magnificent. He sang an aria from Robert le Diable. The two ladies in front of me emitted ohs! and ahs! which led me to believe that they agreed with me and that the performance deafened them; especially as the singer, not content with bursting our ear drums, was almost invariably off the pitch; he sang false with imperturbable assurance. There were moments when he put forth such a volume of voice that I wondered if people passing through the street would not think that a crime was being committed in the house.

At last the performance came to an end. The two ladies turned toward me with smiling faces, and I could not help saying:

"I prefer an orchestra with four drums. I don't know yet whether I have any ears left; I believe they are split."

The words were hardly out of my mouth, when the bulky singer walked across the salon and halted directly in front of the two ladies.

"I am not in good voice this evening," he said; "it seemed as if my notes wouldn't come out. What did you think, mother?"

"Why, my dear, you sang beautifully, I assure you."

"Yes, brother; you sang very well, and you made a great impression. You can depend on us; we know what we are talking about, you see. There are people who set up for judges of music, but who don't understand the first thing about it. So much the worse for them! You sang with perfect taste, and I am sure that you made many people envious of you!"

I had addressed my criticisms judiciously! the ladies in front of me were the singer's mother and sister! So the ohs! and ahs! indicated admiration, and I must needs tell them that I preferred to listen to drums! An additional proof that we should be careful what we say when we do not know the person to whom we are speaking.

I saw that the singer's sister was casting withering glances in my direction, so I decided to walk away and take up my position on the other side of the salon. I had made two enemies; another time I would be more prudent.

After the roaring of our friend, the audience required something soft to soothe its auditory nerves. A lady seated herself at the piano and sang an air with an abundance of trills and roulades. What a misfortune to think of singing in public when one has a shrill, squeaky voice! But I determined to make no comments this time, or express an opinion in any form of words. A young man behind me was not so scrupulous.

"They call that singing with a lemon on the key-board," he muttered.

"If this sort of thing goes on," I thought, "it certainly can't be for the music that people come to Monsieur Sordeville's."

But the hostess made us some amends by executing with much dash and brilliancy a theme with variations which had the merit of not being too long. Next, the fair-haired youth whom I had seen talking with Armantine sang several ballads. He had a pleasant voice and sang with good taste. That added to my vexation, for I was convinced that he was paying court to her. But I did him the justice to admit that he sang well.

While a duet for piano and violin was being performed, I went into another room; I confess that I was not enjoying myself. The hostess was so surrounded by courtiers and adorers that it was impossible to talk with her an instant. Indeed, she made no effort to give me an opportunity. Ah! how different from the night of the wedding ball! There were times when I fancied that she was not the same woman.

I sat down at a baccarat table which had just been made up. I was well pleased to play cards, for I have always considered it the best of all ways to entertain people in society.

I had been playing for some little time, when, happening to turn my head, I saw Madame FrÉdÉrique. Never did a meeting afford me greater pleasure. She smiled at me, and said:

"Good-evening! Are you in luck?"

"Not thus far."

"Will you give me an interest in your play? I will bring you luck."

"With pleasure!"

"Here is my stake."

She tossed me a purse filled with napoleons, and turned away without giving me time to ask her how much she wanted to bet. Strange woman! But, at all events, she was just the same as she was the other evening; she was not like her friend.

My partnership seemed to bring me luck in very truth; for the vein changed, and I won. I looked about for my partner, to ask her if she wished to go on, but I did not see her; so I continued to play, and won again. I dared not stop then; but the game was interrupted when tea was served. I saw Monsieur Archibald, Monsieur Guillardin's son, a few steps away, and bowed to him; he returned the bow, but very coldly, as if he did not care to renew the acquaintance. He need have had no fear, I was nowise inclined to strike up an intimacy with him; I remembered the way he looked at me on the night of his sister's wedding. I fancied that he looked upon me as a rival aspirant for Madame Dauberny's favor. How many false conjectures are constantly made in society!

Certainly I had had very little entertainment in that house. Madame Sordeville laughed and talked with everybody but me. I was evidently mistaken the other evening, when I thought that she looked kindly upon me, that she felt drawn toward me.

"Oh! these women!" I thought; "one never knows what to depend upon with them! But, yes, there is one thing that one can depend upon; I do not deem it necessary to name it."

I was strongly inclined to go away; but I must first settle my account with my partner, and Madame Dauberny was at that moment deep in conversation with a gentleman possessed of a superb pair of red moustaches, and chin whiskers of the same hue. He was talking with much animation; and I am very much mistaken if he was not making a declaration of love to Madame FrÉdÉrique.

You will say that I am prone to discover love intrigues everywhere. The fact is that they are the commonest things in the world. And if we see many of them, you may be sure that there are many more of which we have no suspicion. Madame FrÉdÉrique was listening to her companion as if he were telling her the story of Telemachus. I determined to wait until they had finished. I sat down in a corner of the salon, and pretended to listen to a man who had been drumming on the piano for a long time, without anyone being able to tell what he was playing. Luckily for him, nobody seemed to be paying any attention to him.

In the midst of that assemblage of persons, almost all of whom were unknown to me, I had a feeling of emptiness, of melancholy, which did not surprise me at all. There was no one there who cared anything for me! Why should I care for them? I had come there on account of a woman who had fascinated me, whom I already loved, whom I would have adored; but her cold greeting, and her coquetry with all of her male guests, had forced back into the depths of my heart the sentiments she had inspired. I was vexed that I had fallen in love with her; I determined to think no more about her. Balloquet was more fortunate than I: he never took love seriously; he made an acquaintance as he ordered a coat; when the coat ceased to please him, he tossed it aside, often before it was worn out. He was right; that is the only sure way of being always well dressed. For my part, I have always had a deep-rooted feeling for the women who have been my mistresses. I do not refer to those I have known for a few days only; I do not call them mistresses. You will find it hard to believe that a man loves sincerely, when he confesses that he has had several mistresses at the same time. But are you familiar with the workings of the human heart? Nature has eccentricities and secrets which we shall never know.

It is probable that my reflections had not given a cheerful cast to my expression; they absorbed me so completely that I did not notice the superb FrÉdÉrique, who had stopped in front of me and finally said to me in a mocking tone:

"Mon Dieu! how you seem to be enjoying yourself, Monsieur Rochebrune!"

"Enjoying myself! No, indeed! and but for you, I should have gone away long ago. We won twenty-eight napoleons, and I have put your share in your purse; here it is, madame."

"That is first-rate! I brought you luck, you see."

"True; but that's all the luck I have had to-night."

"I understand! Poor boy! somebody has not treated him as he had hoped."

I contented myself with a slight movement of the head.

"I am tempted to afford you a little diversion," continued FrÉdÉrique. "Will you come and take supper with me?"

I looked up at Madame Dauberny. She saw that I took her suggestion for a joke, and she instantly added:

"What is there so extraordinary in that? I am in the habit of having supper every night; I invite you to join me, and, if you accept, I shall invite another gentleman, who has just made me a most grotesque declaration of love; but he's a Prussian, and hasn't perfect command of our language."

"Is it the gentleman with red moustaches?"

"Just so; Baron von Brunzbrack. There's a name for you! I have fairly turned his head, but I give you my word that I did it unintentionally. Come, what do you say—do you accept?"

"With great pleasure; but, if I remember rightly, the night that I had the good fortune to make your acquaintance, you denied me the favor of calling on you."

"That is quite possible; you see, that night, I thought for a moment that you proposed to make love to me. I was an idiot! You are in love with Armantine only; and as you have discovered to-night that many others besides yourself are in love with her, you are melancholy, ill-humored, desperate. Ha! ha! I have guessed the truth, haven't I? Come, monsieur, give me your hand; by taking you away, I advance your interests much more than you do with your languishing airs; all women are jealous of their conquests, and Armantine will think that I am trying to steal one of hers. You will be the cause of a dispute between us, but it will be only a cloud which the slightest breeze will blow away."

The hope of causing Madame Sordeville some chagrin made me radiant. I gladly took the hand that was offered me. A large part of the company had already disappeared. Madame Dauberny said a word in the ear of the Prussian baron, who was standing like a sentinel in the middle of the salon. That word produced a magical effect: Herr von Brunzbrack jumped back and landed on the feet of the gentleman who talked with his eyes closed; he opened them very wide now, however, exclaiming:

"Take care, monsieur! you've lamed me for life! What on earth is the matter with you?"

Herr von Brunzbrack was profuse in his apologies; but at that moment he was so transported by the invitation he had received from Madame Dauberny, that, while he was apologizing, he trod on the dress of a lady who stood beside him, then overturned a chair, and, as he stooped to pick it up, caught his coat buttons in the lace-trimmed cloak of a lady who had just put it on to go home. The poor Prussian lost his head; he did not know where he was; he dared not take a step forward or back. FrÉdÉrique extricated him from his plight by taking his arm and leading him away.

"Come, baron, come," she said; "we are waiting for you!"

We three left the salon; I cast a glance at Madame Sordeville, who seemed thunderstruck to see me go away with Madame Dauberny, who had sent the baron on ahead and had taken my arm with the greatest familiarity.

I felt a thrill of joy and satisfaction, which fully compensated me for all the tedium of the evening. FrÉdÉrique was right; by taking me away with her, she had served my passion more effectually than I had done by all the ardent glances I had bestowed upon the seductive Armantine. Women are never mistaken as to what it is necessary to do to make sure that the arrow reaches its mark.