'But,' she asked, 'how do you spend your evenings?'
'I have worked very hard until lately,' he replied; 'I live with my sister, and I know almost no one.'
'Who introduced you to the Comtesse?' inquired Madame Moraines.
'One of my friends, whom I dare say you know—Claude Larcher.'
'A charming man,' she said, 'with only one fault—that of thinking very badly of women. You must not believe all he says,' she added, again assuming her timid smile; 'he would deprave you. The poor fellow has always had the misfortune to fall in love with flirts and coquettes, and is foolish enough to think that all women are like them.'
As she uttered these words an expression of intense sadness came into her eyes. Her handsome face betrayed all kinds of emotions, from the pride of a woman who feels outraged by the cruel sayings of a misogynist writer to pity for Claude, and even a kind of modest fear that René might be led into similar errors—a fear that implied a mute esteem of his character. A silence ensued, during which the young man was surprised to find himself rejoicing in the absence of his friend. It would have been painful to him to listen on his way home to the brutal paradoxes with which Colette's jealous lover had regaled him during their drive from the Rue Coëtlogon to the Rue du Bel-Respiro. He had been right after all in silently protesting against Claude's withering tirades, even before he had known a single one of these superior creatures, towards whom he felt attracted by an irrepressible hope of finding, amongst them, the woman he should love for life! And he sat there listening to Madame Moraines as she spoke of secret troubles often hidden by a life of pleasure, of virtues concealed under the mask of frivolity, and of works of charity such as were undertaken by one or other of the friends whom she named. She said all this so simply and so sweetly that not a single intonation betrayed aught but a sincere love of the good and the beautiful, and as the company rose from the table she observed, with a kind of divine modesty at having thus laid bare her inmost feelings:
'This is a very strange conversation for a supper; you must have heard of so many "fives to sevens" that I hardly dare to ask you to come and see me. But in case you should be passing that way, pray remember that I am always at home before dinner on Opera days. I should like you to see my husband, who is not here this evening—he wasn't very well. He made me come, because the Comtesse had asked us so often—which proves,' she added, as she shook hands with René, 'that one is sometimes rewarded for doing one's duty, even though it be a social one.'
CHAPTER V
THE DAWN OF LOVE
The shock of the novel and varied sensations experienced by René Vincy on that eventful evening had been so great that it was impossible for him to analyse them as he made his way on foot from the Rue du Bel-Respiro to the Rue Coëtlogon. Had Claude not left the house so suddenly, tortured by the pangs of jealousy, the two friends would have returned together. Whilst walking along the deserted streets with the silent stars shining above, they would have indulged in one of those confidential talks in which, when young, we give full utterance to the feelings inspired by the events of the past few hours. By the mere mention of the name of Madame Moraines, René might then have discovered what a hold on his thoughts had suddenly been secured by this rare specimen of beauty, the living embodiment of all his ideas of aristocracy. Perhaps from Claude, too, he might have gathered a few correct notions concerning the lady, and the difference that existed between a mere fashionable woman like Madame Moraines and a real grande dame, he would then have been spared the dangerous fever of imagination which, all along his route, conjured up to his delight visions of Suzanne. He had heard the Comtesse call her by that pretty name as she gave her a farewell kiss, and he could see her again in her long, fur-lined cloak, her shapely head looking quite lost encircled by the deep ermine collar. He could again see the slight inclination of that dainty head in his direction before she got into the carriage. He could see her still, as she sat at supper, with that look in her glorious eyes, so full of intelligence, and that way she had of moving her lips to utter words, very simple in themselves, but each of which proved that this woman's soul matched her beauty, just as her beauty was worthy of her surroundings.