"Oh, no; no, please don't! I didn't think I had said anything which could make you imagine I should be inclined to accept. I don't really know, frankly. You understand that I should have to think it over, I should have to collect myself and consider what my duty is; to be more myself, in fact, and less influenced by you, before I could give you an answer."
"I shall call on your mother this week," said Mme. Bourjot, getting up and pressing his hand. "Good-bye," she said sadly; "life is a sacrifice!"
XXII
"Renée," said Mme. Mauperin one evening to her daughter, "shall we go and see Lord Mansbury's collection of pictures to-morrow? It appears that it is very curious; people say that one of the pictures would fetch four thousand pounds. M. Barousse thought it would interest you, and he has sent me the catalogue and an invitation. Should you like to go?"
"Rather. I should just think I should like to go," replied Renée.
The following morning she was very much surprised to see her mother come into the room while she was dressing, busy herself with her toilette, and insist on her putting on her newest hat.
"There are always so many people at these exhibitions," said Mme. Mauperin, arranging the bows on the hat, "and you must be dressed as well as every one else."
Although it was a private exhibition there were crowds of people in the room on the first floor of the Auction Buildings, where Lord Mansbury's collection was on view. The fame of the pictures, and the scandal of such a sale, which it was said had been necessitated by Lord Mansbury's folly in connection with a Palais Royal actress, had attracted all the habitués of the Hôtel Drouot; those people whom of late years the fashion for collecting has brought there—all that immense crowd of bric-à-brac buyers, art worshippers, amateurs of repute, and nearly all the idlers of Paris. It had been found necessary to hang the three or four valuable pictures for sale in the hall out of reach of the crowd. In the room one could hear that muffled sound which one always hears at wealthy peoples' sales, the murmur of prices going up, of whims and fancies, of follies which lead on to further follies, of competitions between bankers, and of all kinds of vanities connected with money matters. Bidding, too, could be heard, being quietly carried on among the groups. "The foam was rising," as the dealers say.
When they entered the room, Mme. Mauperin and her daughter saw Barousse, arm-in-arm with a young man of about thirty years of age. The young man had large, soft eyes, which would have been handsome if they had had more expression in them. His figure, which was slightly corpulent, was a little puffy, and this gave him a rather common appearance.