She blushed, and allowed her hands—which were particularly beautiful—to finger idly the silks and laces which were draped so tastefully about his person. As her eyes were downcast in dainty and becoming confusion, she failed to notice that M. le Contrôleur was somewhat absent-minded this morning, and that, had he dared, he would at this juncture undoubtedly have yawned. But of this she was obviously unconscious, else she had not now murmured so persuasively.
"Am I beautiful?"
"What a question!" he replied.
"The most beautiful woman here present?" she insisted.
"Par ma foi!" he protested gaily. "Was ever married man put in so awkward a predicament?"
"Married man? Bah!" and she shrugged her pretty shoulders.
"I am a married man, fair lady, and the law forbids me to answer so provoking a question."
"This is cowardly evasion," she rejoined. "Mme. la Marquise, your wife, only acknowledges one supremacy—that of the mind. She would scorn to be called the most beautiful woman in the room."
"And M. le Comte de Stainville, your lord, would put a hole right through my body were I now to speak the unvarnished truth."
Irène apparently chose to interpret milor's equivocal speech in the manner most pleasing to her self-love. She looked over her shoulder toward the window embrasure. She saw that Mme. la Marquise d'Eglinton's court was momentarily dismissed, and that M. le Duc d'Aumont had just joined his daughter. She also saw that Lydie looked troubled, and that she threw across the room a look of haughty reproof.