He turned toward her, stammering some unintelligible words. Madame Baldimer had finished her story, and all her auditors had pronounced it exceedingly interesting. The fair American fixed her piercing eyes on Monsieur Vermoncey, and said:
"And you, monsieur, what do you think of my story? Did it interest you too?"
Albert's father murmured something which no one could hear, and, having succeeded in breaking out a path, he abruptly left the salons, still followed by Madame Baldimer's eyes, for she seemed to enjoy his confusion and pallor.
While all this was taking place in the cardroom, Madame Plays, deserted by Madame Baldimer, had risen and set out in search of her husband, who had ventured to leave the whist table in order to watch the dancing. His wife spied him at last, behind a quadrille, and, seizing his arm, led him into a corner.
"I have found you at last," she said; "it's very lucky!"
"Excuse me, my dear love, for leaving the whist table," rejoined Monsieur Plays, alarmed by his wife's agitated manner; "but I assure you that I am beginning to understand; one of the players said to another: 'We have the odd!' from which I conclude that the odd is like Pope Joan or the double six; so, you see, I understand whist."
"Oh! monsieur, what do I care about whist! it's something much more important that I have to talk to you about."
"You look as if you were very warm—would you like an ice?"
"Hush! and listen to me: Albert is not dead!"
"What do you mean? that young man who was killed in a duel for you?"