"Yes, M. le Marquis; but where will you receive the gentlemen who are expected this morning?"
"Here, in my cabinet; they will smoke after breakfast, and then the smell of the tobacco will not reach Madame d'Harville."
At this moment the noise of carriage wheels was heard in the courtyard of the hôtel.
"It is Madame la Marquise going out; she ordered her carriage very early this morning," said Joseph.
"Run and request her to be so kind and come here before she goes out."
"Yes, M. le Marquis."
The domestic had scarcely left the room when M. d'Harville approached a mirror, and looked at himself attentively.
"Well, well," said he, in a hoarse voice, "it is there,—the flushed cheeks—the bright look—joy or fever, it is little consequence which, so that they are deceived; now, then, for the smile on the lips,—there are so many sorts of smiles! But who can distinguish the false from the true? Who can peep beneath the false mask, and say, 'That laugh hides a dark despair, that noisy gaiety conceals a thought of death?' Who could guess that? No one,—fortunately, no one,—no one! Ah, yes, love would never be mistaken; his instinct would enlighten him. But I hear my wife,—my wife! Now, then, sinister actor, play thy part."
Clémence entered M. d'Harville's apartment.
"Good morrow, dear brother Albert," she said, in a tone full of sweetness. Then, observing the smiling expression of her husband's countenance, "But what is it, my dear, that gives you such a smiling air?"