“I never go to parties; I am quite unknown,” replied Madame de Soulanges coldly, not having understood the look by which her aunt had just conveyed to her that she was to attract the Baron.
Martial, to give himself countenance, twisted the diamond he wore on his left hand; the rainbow fires of the gem seemed to flash a sudden light on the young Countess’ mind; she blushed and looked at the Baron with an undefinable expression.
“Do you like dancing?” asked the Provencal, to reopen the conversation.
“Yes, very much, monsieur.”
At this strange reply their eyes met. The young man, surprised by the earnest accent, which aroused a vague hope in his heart, had suddenly questioned the lady’s eyes.
“Then, madame, am I not overbold in offering myself to be your partner for the next quadrille?”
Artless confusion colored the Countess’ white cheeks.
“But, monsieur, I have already refused one partner—a military man——”
“Was it that tall cavalry colonel whom you see over there?”
“Precisely so.”