"Well, monsieur, while you are here, if it will afford you any pleasure to come to our evenings at home, Monsieur Monléard, I am sure, will be delighted to see you. At all events, he allows me to invite whom I choose—and he does the same. I greet his friends courteously, he does as much for mine; in that way, we always agree. Stay! next Thursday, as I was saying to my sister, we give a large party; there will be everything: music, dancing, cards, and supper; it will last all night, and we shall have lots of fun. You must come. We shall have all Paris—that is to say, all the best artists, all the celebrities. Will you come?"
Gustave was struck dumb by this invitation, and especially by the light, careless tone in which it was offered; he was more distressed than gratified, and answered, with a low bow:
"No, madame; I shall not have the honor of accepting your invitation."
"Indeed! And why not, may I ask, monsieur?"
"Why, because—at this party—in your husband's house—it seems to me, madame, that I should be out of place; and I am sure beforehand that I should take no pleasure in it. Pray receive, madame, my thanks and my adieux."
Thereupon Gustave went up to Adolphine, who had listened without a word, and pressed her hand, saying in an undertone:
"Adieu, my only friend! Ah! your father is right: it is much better that I should not come here again."
Gustave left the room. Adolphine had difficulty in concealing her grief. Fanny, meanwhile, looked at herself in a mirror, saying:
"What is the matter with Monsieur Gustave, I wonder? He had a very tragic air as he left us. It wasn't polite of him to refuse my invitation. And I fancied that it would give him the greatest pleasure! There are so many young men who would be overjoyed to have the opportunity to come to my evenings!"
"In your eyes, Monsieur Gustave ought not to be like other young men. And I cannot conceive how you could have dreamed of urging him to come to see you," rejoined Adolphine, in a trembling voice.