More than a fortnight had elapsed since the MonlÉard's whist party, at which Adolphine had sung several romanzas. But her sweet voice had made a deep impression upon the Comte de la BÉriniÈre, also upon young Anatole de Raincy; it had even caused a quickening of the heart-beats of Monsieur Batonnin, the gentleman who played whist so poorly, but who was said to have a much clearer comprehension of business, which, indeed, was his profession, for he held himself out as a business agent.

Adolphine was alone in a small salon, much less sumptuous than her sister's, but very comfortable none the less. I need not say that there was a piano in it: that has become an indispensable article of furniture; we see them even in the domiciles of concierges who have daughters at the Conservatoire.

Adolphine held a book in her hand, but she was not reading it; she was musing, and her face still wore a sad expression. Upon what subject can a maiden of eighteen muse? Everybody will conclude that her heart was engrossed by a tender sentiment. And yet, no man had ever paid court to Adolphine, no one had ever observed any youthful exquisite paying assiduous attention to her. But all love affairs do not begin in the same way; they do not all follow the beaten paths; there are secret, unavowed sentiments which those who inspire them are very far from suspecting; and when it is a virtuous maiden's heart in which one of those profound attachments takes root, she suffers all the more because of the pains she takes to conceal it.

Adolphine passed her hand across her brow, as if to brush away the thoughts that made her sad; she took up her book again, and for a few minutes tried to read; then placed it beside her, saying to herself:

"It's of no use for me to try to distract my thoughts—I cannot do it. I used to be so fond of reading! This book is intensely interesting, they say, and I have no idea what I'm reading; nothing interests me now! even music no longer has any charm for me; my poor piano is neglected; everything is a bore. Mon Dieu! shall I always be like this? Oh! no, that would be ghastly! It will pass away; it must pass away! Father has already noticed several times that I seemed sad, and it worries him; he thinks that I am sick. Oh! I don't want to make him uneasy. But it isn't my fault; I do all that I possibly can to drive out of my mind the memory of—that person—and it keeps coming back. And yet, I know perfectly well that there's no sense in it—that I'm a little fool. It's of no use for me to argue—I cannot cure myself!"

The door of the salon opened; it was Monsieur Gerbault. The girl hurriedly wiped away the tears that were rolling down her cheeks, and strove to assume a smiling expression, as she went to meet her father.

"I have come to tell you, Adolphine, that we shall have two guests at dinner to-day."

"You are very late in telling me, father. But, no matter! I will go and tell Madeleine."

"I couldn't tell you any earlier; I met Monsieur Batonnin only a moment ago. He said: 'I am going to play a game of bÉzique with you this evening.' I said: 'Come and dine with us, informally.'"

"Monsieur Batonnin! I don't care much for that young man."

"Still he is very gallant—and so courteous."

"He is forever paying compliments—it's a horrible bore! And then, he always has a smile on his face. Tell me, papa, is that natural? Can there be anyone in the world who is always satisfied and happy?"

"I should say that it was rather difficult. However, there are optimists who look at the bright side of everything."

"For my part, I believe that those people are not sincere, that they simply make a point of concealing what they think.—Who is the other one, father?"

"Monsieur Clairval."

"I am very fond of him; he isn't complimentary, at all events, and yet that doesn't prevent his being agreeable. He has plenty of wit, and doesn't flaunt it in everybody's face. I do like that so much—wit that doesn't parade itself!"

"But, my child, if one has wit without showing it, I should say that it was precisely equivalent to having none at all."

"Oh! it always leaks out, father, here and there, even if it's only in the smile."

"I just missed inviting Monsieur de la BÉriniÈre, too."

"Oh! papa, how fortunate it is that you missed it!"

"Why so, pray? The count is very pleasant. He's a very distinguished man in all respects."

"I don't say that he isn't, but for a count we should have had to make preparations; and then, he has been coming to see us quite often of late."

"And that bores you?"

"It doesn't amuse me overmuch."

"My dear girl, I hoped, by inviting a friend or two to dinner, to brighten you up, to give you a little diversion; for you have looked as if you weren't feeling well for some time. Tell me, are you sick?"

"Why, no, dear father; I am not sick, I am not in pain. I assure you that I am in my ordinary condition."

"Good! so much the better! Still, it seems to me that you're a little changed."

"Oh! you know one has days—when the autumn comes.—And you didn't invite Fanny and her husband, while you were in the mood?"

"Yes, I did. I was going to their house when I met Auguste. But they can't come; they are going to a grand dinner. Nothing but festivities, gorgeous parties!"

"All the better! it amuses Fanny; she's so fond of all that sort of thing!"

"True, true! Fanny is leading the life she used to dream of; she ought to be happy. But it seems to me that her husband has been in rather a gloomy mood lately; he always has such a startled, preoccupied manner; and when you speak to him, he hardly listens to you."

"I think that you're mistaken, father; Fanny's husband isn't of an expansive nature; his manner is cold, a little haughty, perhaps."

"Yes, I know it; but he likes to cut a brilliant figure, to dazzle other people by his magnificence; and that sometimes carries a man too far."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I have been told that he is speculating heavily on the Bourse."

"If he has the means to do it, it's all right; he must know what he's about."

"Batonnin was telling me just now that MonlÉard must have lost a great deal of money by the failure—or the flight, I don't quite know which it was—of one Morissel."

"Ah! Monsieur Batonnin told you that? I notice that disagreeable news is generally brought by smiling faces and honeyed words."

"I prefer to believe that my son-in-law's fortune has not sustained such a serious loss."

"After all, father, in business a man can't always make money, can he?"

"Hoity-toity! here you are talking almost as well as your sister.—By the way, I met Monsieur Grandcourt too."

"Monsieur Grandcourt?"

"Well, well! what's the matter now? You're as pale as a ghost. Don't you feel well?"

"Yes, father. I am all right, I promise you. What did Monsieur Grandcourt have to say?"

"Oh! he doesn't speculate! He's a prudent, intelligent man. He does an excellent business. His house is prosperous and is extending its connections every day."

"And his nephew—that poor Monsieur Gustave—did he tell you anything about him?"

"He is still in Spain."

"But when is he coming back? If he should come to see us—would that annoy you?"

"My dear Adolphine, in the first place, after what has happened, it's not at all likely that Gustave will ever come to our house again. That young man was in love with your sister. For a moment, he hoped that she would accept him for her husband, then his hopes were disappointed. He saw Fanny take MonlÉard in preference to him, and he must have suffered doubly—in his love and in his self-esteem. What do you suppose he will come to our house again for?—in search of memories, of regrets? No, our company would have no charms for him now."

"Ah! so you think, father, that our company would no longer be agreeable to him? But he was much attached to you."

"As the father of the young lady whose husband he wished to be; I know all about that."

"But, still, if he should come here, it seems to me that it would be very discourteous to send him away, to receive him unkindly."

"Without being unkind to him, you could easily make him understand that his presence here may be very embarrassing; that he may meet your sister and her husband here; that MonlÉard may have learned of his love for Fanny; and that it would be better, therefore, for him not to come again. But, I say once more, you will not have to tell him all that; for I am very certain, myself, that he has no intention of coming here."

"Poor Gustave!" said Adolphine to herself, as she left the room; "father doesn't want him to come here any more! What, in heaven's name, would he say if he knew about that duel? Then it would surely be: 'I don't want to see him in my house again!'—Luckily he thinks, like everybody else, that Auguste's injury was the result of a fall on the stairs. But I suppose father is right, and Gustave will never come here; I shall never see him again!"

The girl put her handkerchief to her eyes once more, then went in search of Madeleine, her maid, a young girl from Picardy, who did not know Gustave, because she did not enter Monsieur Gerbault's service until after his eldest daughter's marriage. Madeleine was very fond of her mistress; she saw that she was unhappy, and often said to her:

"Mon Dieu! mamzelle, when shall I see you happy and gay, as you ought to be at your age?"

"Why, I am very happy, Madeleine," replied Adolphine, forcing back a sigh. Whereat the Picarde murmured, with a shrug of her shoulders:

"Oh! nenni! I can see well enough that you always have something inside that keeps you from laughing!"