The guests had conversed; they had played lansquenet, brelan, primero, dice, and other fashionable games; they had danced sarabands, passe-pieds, branles, and all the dances then in vogue. In fact, everybody had seemed delighted with the evening's entertainment, and had lavished compliments upon Valentine and Madame de Ravenelle, congratulating the latter upon having a niece who did the honors of her house so gracefully.
And as the givers of a large party are usually very tired on the following day, the old aunt was stretched out on a reclining chair, from which she did not stir; while Valentine sat on a sofa, with her feet on a soft hassock, holding in her hands a piece of embroidery upon which she was not working.
"Are you asleep, aunt?" inquired Valentine, after a very long silence.
"I think not, niece; at all events, if I had been, your question would have waked me!"
"Oh! I see that you were not asleep at all.—Our reception last night was very brilliant, was it not?"
"If it is to ask me that that you interfere with my doze——"
"No; I wanted to ask you also if you noticed that all those whom we invited came?"
"All! do you think so?"
"Yes, aunt, with the exception of a single one.—Oh! I am quite sure that you noticed that, too."
"It is true," said Madame de Ravenelle, partly rising, "that the young Comte de Marvejols did not come."