"Come now, Conrad, pay no attention," said Madame de Lucenay, eating a bonbon imperturbably. "A man of honor ought not, nor may not, commit himself with this gentleman. If he insists, I will tell you wherefore."
A terrible scene was perhaps about to take place, when the doors were again thrown open, and the Duke de Lucenay entered, and, according to custom, with much noise and disturbance.
"How, my dear! not ready?" said he to his wife. "Why, it is astonishing—surprising! Good-evening, Saint Remy; good-evening, Conrad. Oh, you see before you the most despairing of men—that is to say, I cannot sleep; I cannot eat; I am stupefied; I cannot get used to it. Poor D'Harville, what an event!" And M. de Lucenay, throwing himself backward on a sofa, threw his hat from him with a gesture of despair, and, crossing his left leg over the right knee, he took his foot in his hand, continuing to utter exclamations of grief.
The emotions of Conrad and Florestan had time to be subdued before M. de Lucenay, the least observing man in the world, had perceived anything.
Madame de Lucenay, not from embarrassment—she was not a woman to be untimely embarrassed—but the presence of Florestan was repugnant and unsupportable, said to the duke, "When you are ready, we will go. I am to present Conrad to Madame de Senneval."
"No!" said the duke; and, throwing down a cushion, he arose quickly, and began to walk about, violently gesticulating. "I cannot help but think of poor D'Harville; can you, Saint Remy?"
"Truly, a frightful event!" said the viscount, who, with hatred and rage in his heart, sought the looks of Montbrison; but he, after the last words of his cousin, not from want of courage, but from pride, turned away from a man so terribly debased.
"Pray, my lord," said the duchess to her husband, "do not regret M. d'Harville in a manner so noisy, and, above all, so singularly. Ring, if you please, for my servants."
"Only to think," said M. de Lucenay, seizing hold of the bell-pull, "three days ago he was full of life, and now, what remains of him? Nothing, nothing, nothing!" These last three exclamations were accompanied by three pulls of the bell so violent, that the cord broke which he held in his hand, separated from the upper string, and fell upon a candelabra filled with waxlights, and overturned two; one fell upon the mantelpiece, and broke a beautiful little vase of Sevres china; the other rolled on the ground, and set fire to a rug of ermine, which, for a moment in a blaze, was almost immediately extinguished by Conrad.
At the same moment, two valets, summoned by the loud ringing, arrived in haste, and found M. de Lucenay with the bell rope in his hand, the duchess laughing violently at this ridiculous cascade of candies, and Montbrison partaking the hilarity of his cousin.