She turned again to Steinmetz, as if desirous of continuing her conversation with him.
“M. de Chauxville, you surely have news?” broke in the countess’s cackling voice. “I have begged M. Steinmetz in vain. He says he has none; but is one to believe so notorious a bad character?”
“Madame, it is wise to believe only that which is convenient. But Steinmetz, I promise you, is the soul of honor. What sort of news do you crave for? Political, which is dangerous; social, which is scandalous; or court news, which is invariably false?”
“Let us have scandal, then.”
“Ah! I must refer you to the soul of honor.”
“Who,” answered Steinmetz, “in that official capacity is necessarily deaf, and in a private capacity is naturally dull.”
He was looking very hard at De Chauxville, as if he was attempting to make him understand something which he could not say aloud. De Chauxville, from carelessness or natural perversity, chose to ignore the persistent eyes.
“Surely the news is from London,” he said lightly; “we have nothing from Paris.”
He glanced at Steinmetz, who was frowning.
“I can hardly tell you stale news that comes from London via Paris, can I?” he continued.