An old gentleman, who closed his eyes when he spoke, as if he were going to sleep, joined us; I had no idea what he said, for the fascinating Armantine entered the room where we were, and I followed her with my eyes. A handsome young man with light hair was walking behind her, talking to her in an undertone—at least, so it seemed to me; the pretty creature laughed heartily, with divers little gestures and expressions that would have brought a regiment to terms. I was annoyed; it was unreasonable of me, perhaps, but I could not bear to have her listen so to that fellow; I was strongly tempted to join in their conversation. But it was impossible; the man who talked with his eyes closed was telling me things that must have been very interesting, judging from the way he emphasized every syllable. Mon Dieu! what tiresome people there are in the world! But, among the various species, the most insufferable, in my opinion, is the man who never stops talking, who joins the story he tells you on to another one, which in turn becomes entangled in a third, after the style of the Thousand and One Nights; so that he is quite capable of keeping you a whole evening in a corner of the salon, without ever giving you a chance of escape, unless you decide boldly to break away from him in the middle of one of his tales.
I have no idea how my conversation with those two gentlemen veered around to politics, of which I have a perfect horror. I discovered to my surprise that Monsieur Sordeville was in government employ and already hinted at opposition. But it did not interest me. I was tempted to close my eyes, like the old gentleman; then I should be more at liberty to think of something else. Luckily, someone began to play on the piano, and gave me an excuse for leaving my politicians.
I returned to the salon, and approached the mistress of the house, intending to say something agreeable to her. But I did not know how to begin the conversation, and I finally asked her if she were going to sing.
"No, I don't sing; but I am ready to play an accompaniment, if anybody wants me to."
"Do you play the piano?"
"Yes, monsieur; and you?"
"A little."
"Do you sing?"
"Only at home, when I am alone."
"Ha! ha! that's selfishness."