She saw me pricking up my ears with curiosity, for I continued to wonder where the huntsmen were hidden.
She smiled over and over again and with an air of mystery.
I could not restrain myself from asking her where the sounds I had heard came from, and whether a hunting party was in progress in her garden.
She began to laugh openly, and said:
“There isn’t any hunting. These buglers I engage to bid my guests a harmonious and cordial welcome.”
“But I don’t see them anywhere. It is really very pretty.”
“From the moment that I have given you pleasure I have succeeded.”
On that day I made the acquaintance of two persons who were then prominent in the first rank of Parisian notabilities. One was a man of the world, refined, delicate, spiritual, gallant, and possessed of the rare and subtle talent of talking on any subject without in any way involving himself in difficulties. This was M. Cheramy. The other was an older person, with expressive features under thick grey hair. His manner was crabbed and gruff. He expressed himself in phrases that were jerky and brief, but full of natural wit. It was evident that he took a real pleasure in talking to us.
We three, M. Cheramy, he and I, were discussing artistic questions when, in a pause of our conversation, we perceived that we were surrounded by a considerable audience. The effect was magical. Two of us became silent, but M. Cheramy was equal to the situation and, with perfect calmness, put everyone at ease.
We were then in the salon. The grey-haired gentleman caught my attention as well as that of Rachel Boyer, who was talking in the midst of a group some distance away. He made us understand with signs that he wished to speak with us, apart from the others. We slipped away to find out what he wanted.