Madame Célival smiled, with a less irritated air, while Chérubin, blushing to the whites of his eyes, exclaimed:
“Why no, I didn’t tell madame that!”
“At all events, you thought it,” rejoined Monsieur Trichet, “and that amounts to the same thing.”
Chérubin did not know what to say; he lowered his eyes and made such a comical face that Madame Célival, taking pity on his embarrassment, rose and said:
“Nonsense, my dear Trichet; you are an old idiot! That is why we all have to forgive you.”
The old bachelor did not hear these last words; he had run off to join a gentleman who was declaiming at the other end of the salon, and whom it gave him great pleasure to interrupt. Madame Célival left Chérubin, saying, with a glance at once amiable and affectionate:
“I trust, monsieur, that you find my house agreeable; you will prove that you do if you come to see me often.”
“Well,” said Monfréville, as he joined Chérubin once more, “your business seems to be progressing.”
“Ah! my dear fellow, that woman is delightful! In her company, it seemed to me that I actually had some wit. I have never been so well pleased with myself.”