Having examined the room, Dubourg turned his attention to the company. There were only three ladies besides the marchioness. One, who seemed to be about sixty years old, and who was called the baroness, talked incessantly of her estates, her châteaux, her property, and her servants; she talked so loud that there was not a moment's silence. A young woman, who was rather pretty, but seemed rather awkward, and did not open her mouth except to laugh or to say yes or no, was called the Vicomtesse de Fairfignan; while the third, who was apparently about thirty years old, and whom they called Madame de Grandcourt, was half reclining on the ottoman, evidently disposed to flirt; for she cast languorous glances at all the men, and made abundant use of her eyes, which had been handsome, but were so encircled with black that her eyebrows seemed to extend all the way round.
There were seven or eight men in the company; all of them seemed to be counts, or barons, or chevaliers, but not one of them, either in dress or bearing, gave any sign of wealth or rank. Monsieur le chevalier had a frock-coat, the sleeves of which were so short that they were far from reaching his wrists; and when he drew his handkerchief, he took great care to turn his back and conceal it from the company.
The count wore torn lace wristbands, and a ruff stained with liquor and tobacco. He seemed to take great satisfaction in displaying his hands, which were covered with huge rings with red and yellow stones; but the blackness of the hands themselves produced a curious effect beside the wristbands and the jewels.
The baron, who had his hair powdered, and seemed much embarrassed by his queue, which kept getting inside his collar, wore a new black coat and an old pair of nankeen trousers, over which dangled charms in the shape of fruit and shells.
The other men were dressed in the same style.
"Sacrebleu!" thought Dubourg, astounded by the aspect of all those noble personages; "if my landlady hadn't told me what she did about the Marquise de Versac, I should imagine that I was at an old-clothes dealer's, with a parcel of counts from Rue Vide-Gousset."
Meanwhile, the conversation did not flag. Everybody talked and laughed at once. They manifested the greatest consideration for Baron Potoski; the marchioness overwhelmed him with attentions, the old baroness invited him to visit her in the country, the viscountess smiled upon him, and Madame de Grandcourt flashed glances at him the meaning whereof was not at all equivocal, while the men applauded everything he said. Dubourg was flattered by these attentions, for the shrewdest and cleverest men generally allow themselves to be cajoled by anything that flatters their self-esteem.
Punch, liqueurs, and sweetmeats were served, and the whole company pounced upon them. The old baroness drank like a porter, the viscountess stuffed herself with cakes, and the languorous Grandcourt swallowed two glasses of punch in rapid succession, exclaiming that it was not strong enough.
Dubourg imitated his neighbors; he helped himself to punch, and complimented Madame de Versac on the liveliness of her company.
"Oh! we don't stand on ceremony," she replied; "what's the use of tedious formalities between people who are all as good as one another?"