“Haven’t I guessed right, that you are at odds with the countess?”
“Oh! I assure you that you are mistaken; I am not sufficiently intimate with that lady to——”
“You are discreet—that is right, and it will be a recommendation with the ladies.”
“Well, well!” thought Chérubin, “they all seem to be agreed on that point; Madame Célival says almost the same thing that the countess said.”
The lovely widow seated herself for a moment by Chérubin’s side, and said in a very low tone:
“You must have done something very bad, to be treated so—to be looked at like that?”
“I, madame? Why, I give you my word that I have done nothing at all.”
“Bless me! how innocently he answers! One would take him for a little saint.”
“Well, she asked me if your boudoir was prettier than—than hers. I told her that I knew nothing about it, and she told me that I lied; but you know that I told the truth.”
“Ah! so she asked you if my boudoir was prettier, did she?” said Madame Célival in an irritated tone. “You admit then that you go to her boudoir? Ah! that little countess! But, on my word, I consider it very inquisitive of her to ask you if you had seen mine!—And you said no?”