Corinne flushed with indignation; but, before she could annihilate him with her contempt, he had left her and was chatting in another group, leaving her M. David for a victim.
It was at Mme. Descoutures's house in Paris, that this took place six weeks later. June had arrived, and, in spite of the open windows, it was very hot in the drawing-rooms, filled with guests. Laviguerie was deeply interested in a game of chess. Germaine, near him, was replying absently to the questions addressed her from time to time. Odette, alone, was carrying on a lively conversation, while Claude was talking in a gay group of artists. Paul and Mme. Sirvin had not left home this evening.
"By the way," said Mme. Bricourt suddenly to Odette, "is your husband ill?"
"Not in the least, Madame."
"I am very glad to hear it. As we never meet him any where nowadays, I was afraid he was sick."
It was not the first time this question had been asked Odette. Lately, their friends had noticed that Odette went every where, as usual, but that her husband was seldom seen with her. Her reply was always that Paul was very busy, and that Mme. Sirvin was not quite as well as usual.
The venerable Mme. Bricourt had no time to push her investigations further at present, as Grenoble's voice rose above all the others, and all turned to listen. He was maliciously drawing out M. Amable Bricourt, to expose his ignorance to the best advantage.
"Ah! you lean to the realistic school? By Jove! you are right! That is true art! The day of idealism is past. It has been laid on the shelf with the paintings of Ingres and Delacroix. As Zola shows us in l'Assommoir, truth is only found in poverty and degradation. Realism has one advantage over idealism, more people understand it. For instance: I am sure M. David is a realist. Am I not right?"
The banker stepped forward and said with great pomposity:
"I am proud to do all I can to encourage art."