M. Molay-Norrois, enlivened by the heat, but subdued in his manner by family life, resolved to consummate a master stroke before the coming departure of the bathers. He made use of his former influence over Mme. Passerat to urge her to ask Albert and Elizabeth to come to the last formal luncheon party, that she was planning to give before her return to Grenoble. It would be the public and official recognition of the reconciliation, and by this diplomacy he would have earned his own.
Albert Derize and his wife, astonished at this joint invitation, agreed to go despite their dislike of being the cynosure of all eyes. It was proper, it was advantageous for their children that they should be seen together, and that their separation be set aside in the eyes of the world. So they were welcomed as if they had never been the object of general curiosity. Another occurrence had replaced theirs as a subject of conversation. It was told—under the seal of secrecy—that the utilitarian Mme. de Vimelle, seeing no advantage in the new liaison of her husband, had resolved to put an obstacle in his way by threatening to start a scandal by means of Mme. Bonnard-Basson's letters, which she had intercepted.
"As you please," M. de Vimelle is said to have replied cynically. "That lady no longer interests me."
Mme. Passerat, too clever to fear the slightest personal danger, and moreover, sure of the support of her body guard, Messrs. Molay-Norrois, and Prémereux, reënforced by her own husband, believed she was well able to prevent this menagerie assembled around her table from devouring one another. And indeed nothing happened, and the Derize reconciliation was sanctioned. Elizabeth's mother, who attached great importance to social opinions, was not annoyed by the result, which helped her to bear other sorrows, which were the outcome of her husband's attractive personality. Albert made every effort to please his wife, who, in her simple dress and with her air of grace and dignity, so resembled those English portraits whose harmony he enjoyed. All the guests profited by his conversation, in the art of which he excelled when he cared to take the trouble.
Philippe Lagier, who had been living at Uriage for a short while, exchanged clever repartee with his friend, to the great joy of Mlle. Rivière, seated beside him; she was listening to him, often looking uneasily at Albert's wife. After luncheon, while coffee was being served in the garden, the girl came up to Mme. Derize.
"Madame," she said to her, as if admiration compelled her to make this confidence, "you have never been more beautiful."
Elizabeth blushed at this sincere compliment, which, from anyone else would have been offensive to her. It was true that her face was radiant, with the clear complexion, softened by her hair which was caressed by the light, its beauty intensified by the contrast of her black dress. And her dark eyes seemed to have grown so big, especially because the cheeks were thinner. They changed the expression of her features, revealed that she was living a nobler, more active life.
"You are a child," she murmured with a smile.
"Not any more," sighed the girl, whose eyes were clouded.
She too had changed, and it was not difficult to notice it. Her coquettishness of former years had led her to understand a deeper emotion. She had angled for Philippe Lagier as a poor girl determined to shape her own destiny by an advantageous marriage angles for a good match. In a word, he was no longer in his first youth, and she was offering him hers. Little by little she began to understand that he was exceptional, that his skepticism concealed a contempt for the commonplace, that he had a superior intellect. Thus she had done something entirely unexpected, and had fallen hopelessly in love.