Her uncle led her across the room, accompanied by Maurice.
Diplomat and courtier were inscribed on every line of the wrinkled countenance of the Marquis de Fleury. He never took a step, or gave a look, or scarcely drew a breath, by which he had not some object to accomplish, some interest to promote. An oppressive suavity of manner, an exaggerated politeness encased him in an impenetrable armor, and prevented the real man from ever being reached beneath this smooth surface. Impulses he had none. The slightest motions of his wiry frame were studied. When he walked, he slid along as though he could not be guilty of so positive an action as that of planting his feet firmly upon what might prove "delicate ground." When he bowed, a contraction of sinews worthy of an acrobat allowed his head to obtain an unnatural inclination, suggestive of a complimentary deference which humbled itself to the dust and kissed the garment's hem. Straightforwardness in word, thought, or action was to him as incomprehensible as it was impossible. He was a great general, ever standing on the political or social battle-field; skilful manœuvres were the glory of his existence, and flattery the magical weapon never laid aside by which he gained his victories.
Madame de Fleury was thirty years his junior. He had purposely selected a young, pretty, harmless, well-dressed doll, as the being best suited to further his ends in the great world. He admired her sincerely. She reached the exact mental stature and standard which he looked upon as perfection in womanhood, and her absolute despotism in ruling the modes and creeds of the beau monde were to him the highest proof of her superiority over the rest of her sex.
Though he was engaged in a conversation with the emperor's grand chamberlain, which seemed deeply interesting to both parties, M. de Fleury broke off instantly when Bertha, with her uncle and Maurice, approached.
"You are so radiant to night, Mademoiselle de Merrivale," remarked the courtier, "that all eyes are fixed upon you. It is cruel of you to dazzle the vision of so many admirers!"
Bertha, without paying the slightest attention to these fulsome words, replied, "Will you pardon me, M. de Fleury, if I ask an impertinent question?"
"How could any question from such sovereign lips become other than a condescension? The queen of beauty commands in advance a reply to the most difficult problem which she can propound."
Bertha, with an impatient toss of her head, as though the buzz of this nonsensical verbiage stung her ears, plunged at once into the subject.
"That set of diamonds and emeralds which Madame de Fleury wears to-night were presented to her by you. Will you have the goodness to tell me from whence you procured them?"
For M. de Fleury to have given a direct answer, even in relation to such an apparent trifle, would have been contrary to his nature; besides, it was one of his rules not to impart information without learning for what object it was sought.