She had hardly seated herself when the same servant announced:
“Monsieur le Baron and Madame la Baronne de Corbelle.”
They were young; the Baron was bald and fat, the Baroness was slender, elegant, and very dark.
This couple occupied a peculiar situation in the French aristocracy due solely to a scrupulous choice of connections. Belonging to the polite world, but without value or talent, moved in all their actions by an immoderate love of that which is select, correct, and distinguished; by dint of visiting only the most princely houses, of professing their royalist sentiments, pious and correct to a supreme degree; by respecting all that should be respected, by condemning all that should be condemned, by never being mistaken on a point of worldly dogma or hesitating over a detail of etiquette, they had succeeded in passing in the eyes of many for the finest flower of high life. Their opinion formed a sort of code of correct form and their presence in a house gave it a true title of distinction.
The Corbelles were relatives of the Comte de Guilleroy.
“Well,” said the Duchess in astonishment, “and your wife?”
“One instant, one little instant,” pleaded the Count. “There is a surprise: she is just about to come.”
When Madame de Guilleroy, as the bride of a month, had entered society, she was presented to the Duchesse de Mortemain, who loved her immediately, adopted her, and patronized her.
For twenty years this friendship never had diminished, and when the Duchess said, “Ma petite,” one still heard in her voice the tenderness of that sudden and persistent affection. It was at her house that the painter and the Countess had happened to meet.
Musadieu approached the group. “Has the Duchess been to see the exposition of the Intemperates?” he inquired.