Finding himself alone, in the midst of that numerous assemblage, the young man felt sorely perturbed and lost the assurance which he derived from his friend’s neighborhood. As he preferred not to stand there, awkward and embarrassed, by the fireplace, where he was exposed to every eye, he succeeded in extricating himself from the circle by slipping behind an easy-chair, and thence made his way to a window recess, where he was prevented from going farther by several persons who were seated there. He tried to retrace his steps, but Madame de Noirmont and her daughter had seated themselves in front of him and closed the way by which he had come; so that he was blockaded in a very confined space, which he could not leave except by compelling the ladies in front of him to rise. As he was incapable of such an audacious act, he decided to remain in the corner where he was, until it should please chance, or Monfréville, to release him from his prison.
The ladies who were seated in front of the recess in which Chérubin stood had no suspicion that there was anybody behind them. The conversation continued in the salon; the guests walked hither and thither, laughing and chatting. Chérubin alone could not stir, and he was at a loss what to do in his little corner. Several times Madame Célival passed the people who were blockading him, but she did not see him. He congratulated himself that she did not, for he would not have known what reply to make, if she had asked him what he was doing there. Monfréville too had reappeared in the salon, but he did not see the suppliant glances which his young friend cast at him, and, instead of approaching him, he seemed to avoid that part of the room in which Madame de Noirmont had seated herself.
Nearly an hour passed thus. Poor Chérubin was terribly fatigued by standing so long, and terribly bored in his little nook. He could hear what Madame de Noirmont said to her daughter; but that lady did not enter into any sustained conversation; she simply replied in few words to Ernestine’s questions.
“Mamma,” said the latter, after a young lady had sung a ballad, “don’t you want me to sing?”
“No, my child, you are too young to put yourself forward; besides, unless your father insists upon it, you will never sing in company.”
“Why not, mamma?”
“Because I prefer in a young lady the modesty which keeps itself concealed, to the vanity which makes itself conspicuous.”
“But in that case, mamma, why did you give me a music teacher?”
“Such accomplishments are more useful in solitude than in society.”
“Oh!—But, mamma——”