Clarisse, well pleased with the tone of the conversation, tried to retain the marquise.
"Tell him, madame, how you pass your evenings."
"What! Have you not yet told him?" asked the marquise, who had been a silent spectator of the meeting between the mother and her son.
"You must not forget that I only arrived yesterday," said Clarisse. "I know nothing myself but what I have heard."
"Ah, true!" said Madame de Choiseul, who with a mother's heart now understood Clarisse's kindly motive.
At once she pointed out to Olivier the windows of one of the buildings.
"That is what we call our drawing-room—a large apartment in which we gather in the evening. There we play at guessing riddles, charades, and bouts-rimés. Some read verses, or recite to us, and we even have music. Look! Do you see that gentleman seated over there under an arch, turning the pages of an album? That is the Baron de Wyrbach, who plays some charming airs every evening on his viola d'amoré. He exhausts his ingenuity to find something new for us."
Olivier listened in astonishment, beginning to be really reassured.
"You see," continued the marquise, "we might imagine ourselves still at Versailles."
Then she added with a sad smile—