At the end of ten minutes, the Countess and Olivier found themselves separated from the others. He wished to find them immediately, but, leaning upon him, the Countess said: “Are we not very well off as it is? Let them go, since it is quite natural that we should lose sight of them; we will meet them again in the buffet at four o'clock.”
“That is true,” he replied.
But he was absorbed by the idea that the Marquis was accompanying Annette and continuing his attempts to please her by his fatuous and affected gallantry.
“You love me always, then?” murmured the Countess.
“Yes, certainly,” he replied, with a preoccupied air, trying to catch a glimpse of the Marquis's gray hat over the heads of the crowd.
Feeling that he was abstracted, and wishing to lead him back to her own train of thought, the Countess continued:
“If you only knew how I adore your picture of this year! It is certainly your chef-d'oeuvre.”
He smiled, suddenly, forgetting the young people in remembering his anxiety of the morning.
“Do you really think so?” he asked.
“Yes, I prefer it above all others.”