The door at the right opened. His daughter entered. She was a tall girl with firm, rosy flesh—a handsome daughter of a strong race. She had chestnut hair and blue eyes. A simple gown outlined her round and supple figure; her voice was strong, almost the voice of a man, with those deep notes which make the nerves vibrate. She cried: "Heavens! Champagne! What luck!" clapping her hands like a child.
Her father said to her: "I wish you to be particularly nice to this gentleman; he has done such a lot for me."
She began to laugh—a sonorous laugh, which said: "I know."
The bell in the vestibule rang. The doors opened and closed and Lesable appeared.
He wore a black coat, a white cravat, and white gloves. He created a stir. Cachelin sprang forward, embarrassed and delighted: "But, my dear fellow, this is among ourselves. See me—I am in ordinary dress."
The young man replied: "I know, you told me so; but I never go out in the evening without my dress-coat." He saluted, his opera-hat under his arm, a flower in his buttonhole. César presented him: "My sister, Mlle Charlotte; my daughter Coralie, whom at home we call Cora."
Everybody bowed. Cachelin continued: "We have no salon. It is rather troublesome, but one gets used to it."
Lesable replied: "It is charming."
Then he was relieved of his hat, which he wished to hang up, and he began immediately to draw off his gloves.
They sat down and looked at one another across the table, and no one said anything more until Cachelin asked: "Did the chief remain late to-night? I left very early to help the ladies."