While Madame Lépine went to meet Madame de Pontchartrain and her niece, and all the young women whispered together as they scrutinized the newcomer, in whom they were undoubtedly seeking defects which they would speedily find,—for women are very skilful in detecting at a glance anything disadvantageous to their rivals,—I noticed that my sister looked furtively at me, trying to read in my eyes the impression that Mademoiselle de Pontchartrain had produced on my heart.
Ah! my poor Amélie! my heart was perfectly calm!—calm, do I say? alas, no! it was not calm as yet, but it was not that young woman who excited it. I wished that it were; she was very pretty; she might well attract any man, and I should have been delighted to love her.
The niece’s name was Pélagie; I heard her called so by her aunt, who had taken her seat at a whist table from which she would not stir until it was time to go home. She urged her niece to enjoy herself, to be less shy; Pélagie blushed, and replied very gently:
“Yes, aunt.”
The young woman seemed to be the personification of innocence.
Madame Lépine took possession of Mademoiselle Pélagie and led her to the circle formed for the games. I took my place by her side; I was curious to make the acquaintance of that young novice. I noticed that all the other young women watched me when they saw me place my chair beside Pélagie’s; jealousy and spite were blazing in their eyes already! In the provinces, people are so quick to interpret the slightest action, the slightest indication of preference! But it mattered little to me what they thought; I was at liberty to do whatever I chose.
How uncharitable young women are to one another! Those who came regularly to the receptions enjoyed the bashfulness and embarrassment of the newcomer, and tried to intensify them by putting the most difficult questions to her in the games and making her do what was likely to confuse her most. I detected their petty malice, and I tried to put Mademoiselle Pélagie more at her ease. Once she attempted to thank me, and began a sentence the end of which I did not hear; but she raised her eyes an instant, and I was able to see that they were of a very tender shade of blue, and sweet in expression.
Madame Lépine, who was a very amiable person and did her best to entertain her guests, asked Madame de Pontchartrain if her niece was musical.
“Yes, madame,” the old aunt replied; “Pélagie sings, and accompanies herself on the piano.”
Immediately all the young women begged Pélagie to sing them something. They hoped to find food for criticism. Pélagie demurred very awkwardly; she glanced at her aunt, who gave her a look which clearly signified sing; whereupon she rose; I escorted her to the piano and offered to accompany her.