"A dinner of eleven covers!" he murmured. "Oh! my fine claret!"
"And your pretended count has carried off my hat!" shouted Monsieur Brid'oison, prowling around the dining-room.
"Cheer up, my dear," said his wife; "the one he has left behind is much newer than yours!"
IX
HOW IT BEGAN
Madame Dermont occupied a pretty little apartment on Rue de Paradis-Poissonnière; she had only one servant, but that was enough for a woman who lived alone, received little company, and was happier in her own home than at the most fashionable social assemblages. She had about eight thousand francs a year; that would have been very little for one who desired to follow all the fashions and to live a life of luxury and dissipation; it was quite sufficient for one who, like her, did not seek to cut a figure in the world, and who loved to think.
Nathalie was in her salon, seated at her piano and looking at the music. But her fingers were motionless on the keys; it is probable, therefore, that the young woman was thinking of something different from what was before her. It was two hours after her visit to her young friend Juliette.
She was roused from her reverie by the bell. The sound made her start; and yet, she no longer expected anyone—at least, she no longer expected the person of whom she was thinking.
The servant announced Monsieur Adhémar Monbrun. At that name, Nathalie trembled and the blood rose to her cheeks; she struggled to conceal her emotion, cast a glance at her dress, and told the maid to admit the visitor.
Adhémar entered with the ease of manner which is due to familiarity with good society, and is the especial attribute of men of letters and artists.
"I have come rather tardily, madame," he said, "to thank you for your kindness in sending to inquire about the trifling burn on my hand. You must have considered me very discourteous for not coming at once to offer you my acknowledgments, did you not, madame?"