“Great heaven! what actions! Why, it’s shocking. That young man is destroying himself. Bertrand, you don’t keep a sharp enough lookout over him; it isn’t right. You ought to preach at him.”
“In the first place, mademoiselle, Monsieur Dalville’s the master; in the second place, when I try to talk reason with him, he refuses to listen to me, or sends me to the devil.”
“That’s very wrong! Ah! if I were only his mother or sister, you’d see how good I’d make him! I’m going to wait for him, Bertrand, for he must come in soon. Still at a ball at eight in the morning! Oh! I don’t take any stock in that yarn.”
Mademoiselle Virginie, who was perfectly familiar with the apartment, opened a door leading to a small salon in which she installed herself, placing her hat on one chair, her shawl on another, and throwing herself on a couch. Bertrand quietly followed her, and as if accustomed to such performances from her, continued to eat the bread and cheese which he had in his hand when she rang the bell.
“I certainly do not care for Monsieur Auguste any more,” said Virginie, after a moment; “I must be a confounded fool to care for a man who has thirty-six mistresses; hasn’t he, Bertrand?”
“Oh! mademoiselle, I can’t say——”
“Yes, yes, he has thirty-six! I don’t say all at once; he would have to be a northern Hercules. And yet—if it could be—It isn’t worth while; one man’s no better than another. I know them so well! Don’t you think I’m right, Bertrand?”
“Oh! as for that, there have been men who—the great Turenne, for instance.”
“Bah! what an ass the man is with his great Turenne! Does he take me for a sentry-box? I don’t know ancient history, Bertrand; I don’t care about anything except my own time, and I tell you Auguste’s a rake. In the first place, he played me a shameful trick three weeks ago. Think of it! he made an appointment with me, and we were to pass the day together and go to Feydeau in the evening; and monsieur left me to cool my heels and went off into the country, to his Monsieur Destival, business agent. He’s another fox, that fellow! He’d better attend to what goes on in his own house, eh, Bertrand?”
“In his own house, mademoiselle? Do you mean——”