Madame Célival was just as Monfréville had described her: lovely, amiable, coquettish, glancing at a mirror from time to time, to be sure of the effect of her gown; paying due attention to all her guests, with the talent of a woman accustomed to society, but reserving softer and tenderer smiles for the men who were paying court to her.
Near the couch on which the mistress of the house had just taken her seat sat a young and pretty blonde, dressed in muslin and crêpe, and entangled in veils and scarfs that almost concealed her charming features; it was all pink and white and formed so becoming a frame for this lady that at a distance she resembled one of those engravings of a woman’s face surrounded by clouds.
Madame Célival thanked the pretty blonde for consenting to come to her reception, despite the torture caused by her nerves. A few steps away was a tall gentleman wearing a decoration; he was very thin and very ugly; his chin was surrounded by a sparse necklace of jet-black beard; moustaches no less glossy, and carefully waxed and twisted at the ends, made his face resemble a cat’s in some measure. He was addressed as colonel.
A young man whose hair was parted and curled with as much care as a woman could possibly take, and whose regular, but somewhat harsh features recalled the faces which our historical painters love to give to the heroes of ancient Rome, was standing by the fireplace; he rarely removed his eyes from the ladies who were talking on the divan, but he seemed not to be observing either of them more particularly than the other.
Near the piano, for there was necessarily a piano in the salon, several young persons were assembled, turning over the leaves of albums, or looking at the music; they were not all good-looking, but they were all dressed with so much taste, there was so much reserved grace in their manners, that even those who were not pretty were not without charm.
In another part of the room the mammas were chatting together; some were dressed with a coquetry which seemed to indicate a purpose to outshine their daughters; others displayed a simple but tasteful elegance, suited to their age, which made them the more attractive when they were still young enough to attract.
Some young men were fluttering about the younger ladies, while others contented themselves with standing very straight and stiff in order to call attention to the finished elegance of their clothes and the good taste with which their hair was arranged. Some had assumed a smile which remained as if stereotyped on their faces throughout the evening. Then there were men of uncertain age standing and talking in the middle of the room; among them a gentleman, whose gray hair, very scanty over his forehead, curled luxuriantly about his temples. He possessed a distinguished and intellectual face, but there was an over-curious, over-inquisitive expression in his little eyes, which gleamed with the vivacity of youth, although his face indicated that he was in the neighborhood of sixty. This gentleman talked incessantly, with much energy, and while carrying on a conversation in one part of the salon, managed to hear what was said elsewhere, and thus took part in most of the other conversations, sustaining his share of the discussion on several different subjects at the same time, with the same facility with which Caesar dictated several letters at once in different languages.
Another salon, smaller than that where the ladies were sitting, and reached by passing through a lovely little room furnished with the most delicious luxury, was set aside for those of the guests who wished to play cards. Whist and bouillotte tables were prepared, but there were as yet no players.
Monsieur de Monfréville and the Marquis Chérubin de Grandvilain were announced. All eyes were turned toward the door. The names Chérubin and Grandvilain formed such a strange contrast that everybody was curious to see the person who bore them.
“Monsieur de Grandvilain!” said one; “Gad! how ugly he must be! He must be an elderly man.”