"Great heaven!" muttered Edmond, "does he propose now to sing duets all by himself?" And to change the subject, he said: "Monsieur Chamoureau, have you been to any of the balls during this Carnival?"
"To balls! I!" exclaimed the widower, resuming his grief-stricken expression. "Oh! my dear friend, you forget my sad plight, my misfortune! Is it possible for me to think of amusing myself when my heart is still full of my grief? when my eyes are always looking for Eléonore—for I do look for her all the time, and there are moments when I forget that I have lost her; then, when I hear a woman cry, or speak rather loud—Eléonore always spoke loud—I turn round, thinking that it's she; and then I realize that it was only a delusion and I have to go back to the ghastly reality!—Ah! then, you see, I fall into such utter prostration—the suffering is terrible! You do not suspect how I suffer!"
Chamoureau took out his handkerchief and put it to his eyes.
"Yes, yes," said Edmond, "I see that you are quite inconsolable."
"Yes, monsieur, inconsolable is just the word; you could not express it better!—O Eléonore! you may flatter yourself that you were dearly loved—may she not, Freluchon?"
"Parbleu! of whom do you ask the question?"
"Ah! I do you justice, my dear friend; you regret her almost as keenly as I do! But we will weep for her together—that affords some relief."
"I say, Chamoureau, how lovely your wife was at a ball! How well she danced!"
"Why, my dear fellow, she was Terpsichore in person! she was so light——"
"Yes, your wife was extremely light."[D]