I bowed and remained.
That night there was a grand ball at the house of one of those easy-going foreigners, who, on the express condition that they may be permitted to remain in their own salons, and look on at the fête which is given at their expense, are willing to lend their houses, their servants, and their supper to the fashionable circle, who take it all as a matter of course.
Almost all of Madame de Pënâfiel's visitors were going there. I was hesitating about going also, when, as good luck would have it, Lord Falmouth was announced.
I had not seen him since his sudden departure for the House of Lords, where he went to speak on the India question which interested him. There was such a difference between his original mind and most of the people I met habitually, that I decided to remain longer than I had at first intended at the Hôtel de Pënâfiel.
After tea, Lord Falmouth and I were left alone with madame la marquise. I have forgotten to mention that, in a far-off corner of the salon, behind the marquise's armchair, unobserved and forgotten, there was a distinguished young stranger, Baron Stroll, who seemed very timid, and who, to hide his embarrassment, had been for the last half-hour turning over the pages of the same album. The young baron was quite red, and his eyes were staring fixedly, while he held his hat tightly between his knees. Lord Falmouth called my attention to him, and said, in a low voice, with his mocking air, the well-known words of the Vizier Maréco to the Sultan Chaabaam, who was looking at the goldfish: "Let him alone, he has got occupation enough for another hour yet."
Madame de Pënâfiel had not noticed this stranger, for, as I say, he was seated behind the very high back of her armchair, beside a table that was covered with albums; for she did the honours of her salon too well to have neglected a guest. She began the conversation by graciously reproaching Lord Falmouth for not coming to see her oftener. To which he replied that he was unfortunately so stupid, and so terribly communicative, that out of a hundred persons that he wanted to converse with, only one or two were strong-minded enough to resist the contagion of his stupidity, and not to become as dull as himself after a quarter of an hour's conversation. It was a dreadful effect he had on most persons, and he deplored it with the most comical humility, and reproached himself for having made an infinite number of victims, whose names he cited as living witnesses of his fatal influence.
"Ah, madame la marquise," he said, shaking his head in a disconsolate way, "I have done a great deal of mischief by my stupidity, as you can plainly see."
"There is no doubt of it, but you are very much to be blamed for having only half killed your victims, for they come to life again, and annoy people in every sort of way," said Madame de Pënâfiel, "and unfortunately the species is as varied as it is abundant and tiresome. Really there is nothing I know of that is more positively distressing than the presence of a bore; there is something in his dreadful influence that is painful to you, that saddens you in a twofold manner, as you might feel remorse for a wicked deed you had not committed."
"For my part," said Lord Falmouth, "I ask your forgiveness for the stupidity of such a trivial comparison; but we are not able to control our impressions. Well, when it happens that I have to submit to a bore, I feel exactly the same sensation as when I hear any one sawing a cork; yes, it is a sort of dull, grinding, squeaking, monotonous sound, which makes me quite understand the ferocity of Tiberius and Nero. Those tyrants must have been uncommonly bored by their courtiers."
"As far as I am concerned," said I, "one of my weak points is that I am very fond of stupid people. When you talk with a clever person, you are always filled with regret when you come to the end of the conversation. Whereas, if you are trying to talk to a fool, oh, there comes a moment, a precious, single moment which compensates you for more than you have suffered! It is the moment when a kind Providence takes him off your hands."