At last there came a day when she said to him: "Now, my dear friend, you must show yourself in society again. You will come and pass the afternoon with me to-morrow. I have given out that you are at home again."
He was heartbroken. "Oh, why so soon?" he said.
"Because if it should leak out by any chance that you are in Paris your absence would be too inexplicable not to give rise to gossip."
He saw that she was right and promised that he would come to her house the next day. Then he asked her: "Do you receive to-morrow?"
"Yes," she replied. "It will be quite a little solemnity."
He did not like this intelligence. "Of what description is your solemnity?"
She laughed gleefully. "I have prevailed upon Massival, by means of the grossest sycophancy, to give a performance of his 'Dido,' which no one has heard yet. It is the poetry of antique love. Mme. de Bratiane, who considered herself Massival's sole proprietor, is furious. She will be there, for she is to sing. Am I not a sly one?"
"Will there be many there?"
"Oh, no, only a few intimate friends. You know them nearly all."
"Won't you let me off? I am so happy in my solitude."