'My dear young man! I have no objection. Only I warn you, she is not conversational; you will make no good of it, and you will be disappointed; perhaps that will be best. Please remember, I am responsible for nobody.'
'Is she so dangerous?' I asked. 'But never mind; I believe that I have something to say which may interest her.'
'Oh, for that!' she smiled elliptically; 'yes, she is most dangerous.
But I will introduce you; you shall tell me how you succeed.'
I bowed and smiled; she laid a light hand on my arm; and I piloted her to the desired corner. It seemed that the chance was with me. The little fluent Provençal had just vacated his seat; and when the prima-donna had acknowledged the hasty mention of my name, with a bare inclination of her head, I was emboldened to succeed to it. And then I was silent. In the perfection of that dolorous face, I could not but be reminded of the tradition which has always ascribed something fatal and inevitable to the possession of great gifts: of genius or uncommon fortune, or singular personal beauty; and the common-place of conversation failed me.
After a while she looked askance at me, with a sudden flash of resentment.
'You speak no French, Monsieur! And yet you write it well enough; I have read your stories.'
I acknowledged Madame's irony, permitted myself to hope that my efforts had met with Madame's approval.
'A la bonne heure! I perceive you also speak it. Is that why you wished to be presented, to hear my criticisms?'
'Let me answer that question when you have answered mine.'
She glanced curiously over her feathered fan, then with the slightest upward inclination of her statuesque shoulders—'I admire your books; but are your women quite just? I prefer your playing.'