"Madame is at home," said the concierge.
I went upstairs, gave my name, and was admitted to madame's boudoir, a charming sanctuary, the divinity of which was sure to attract many of the faithful.
I was greeted with the most gracious smile imaginable; she reproached me most kindly for having left her so long without a glimpse of me. Never had Armantine looked lovelier to me, and her amiability was delightful. I found once more my partner of the ball at Deffieux's.
I passed an hour at Madame Sordeville's, and at the end of the hour it seemed to me that I had just arrived. What did I say to her? I have no idea; but I think that I squeezed her hand more than once, and that it did not seem to offend her. I went so far as to put her hand to my lips; she withdrew it, and said in a tone in which there was no trace of severity:
"Well, well! what are you doing? what are you thinking about?"
"You, nothing but you."
"Oh! pardon me if I do not believe you! When one thinks so much of people, one doesn't go whole weeks without seeing them."
"When those people have received us with icy coldness, is it not natural that we should hesitate before venturing to present ourselves again?"
"Coldness! Ought I to have taken your hand, made you sit down beside me, and talked exclusively with you all the evening?"
"Oh! you are laughing at me, madame! You are well aware that, even in a crowd, before witnesses, there are a thousand ways of pouring balm on a suffering, anxious heart; a word, a glance, is enough."