This young lady, who alighted so gracefully, was the marquis’s younger daughter, Mademoiselle Cornélie; she was twenty-seven years old, tall and well-built; her face was regular and rather distinguished, but her manner was imperious and her eyes, which she very rarely lowered, seemed intent upon commanding homage, and their expression indicated that she received it simply as a tribute due to her.
After Mademoiselle Cornélie came her sister, who was a widow, named Madame de Hautmont, or simply Eudoxie; she was perhaps five or six years older than Mademoiselle Cornélie; she was pretty, but she lessened her attractions by grimaces and a pretentious manner; her dress was always so extravagantly elaborate as to be ridiculous; she was saturated with perfumery, and she always carried a bouquet in one hand and a phial of salts in the other; the least thing made her faint and sick. She, far from alighting from the carriage alone, required three persons to assist her; but at the moment that her foot touched the ground, she spied François and the two scullions, whose weapons were pointed in her direction.
"Oh! mon Dieu! what is that?" cried Madame de Hautmont, throwing herself into her father’s arms. "Are they going to fire at us? Why, this is abominable! I can’t endure the sight of firearms!"
Robineau had walked forward to meet the La Pincerie family; he bowed respectfully to the father, shook hands with the uncle, smiled at the young lady, and reassured her sister, crying:
"Monsieur Férulus, pray tell my people not to aim their guns at everybody! Do not be afraid, mesdames; it is a surprise, it’s for the fête."
"What! do you mean to say that there will be guns fired at your fête, monsieur?"
"There will be all the firing that is possible, madame! But there will be no one shot; it is just for a joke, and to amuse you; that is all."
After escorting the La Pincerie family into the large salon, where Alfred and Edouard assisted him to do the honors, Robineau outdid himself in his endeavors to receive all his guests gracefully. There was the notary, who alighted with his wife from a dainty cabriolet; there was a wealthy paper manufacturer, who brought his wife, his three daughters, his two sons and his two nieces in his char-à-bancs; there were the Gérards, who alone filled both seats of their carriage, and who could not walk arm in arm, because their hips made it impossible; there was Monsieur le Chevalier de Tantignac, who could not say two words without bringing in a falsehood, and who arrived on foot, in silk short clothes, with spurs on his shoes and a hunting crop in his hand, to give the impression that he had come on horseback; lastly, there were the government officials, the leading merchants, the important personages of the district, who had one and all accepted Monsieur de la Roche-Noire’s invitation, for opportunities for enjoyment being more rare in the provinces, one eagerly seizes all that offer.
The company assembled in the immense salon on the first floor; they eyed one another, they scrutinized one another from head to foot, they passed the ladies’ costumes in review, they made unkind remarks in undertones and complimentary ones aloud. Robineau went from one to another, played the gallant with the ladies, and smiled at everybody; but he addressed his homage most frequently to Mademoiselle Cornélie de la Pincerie, although ever since her entrance into the salon, Mademoiselle Cornélie had paid much more attention to Alfred than to the master of the house; while for her part Eudoxie cast languishing glances at Edouard.
On entering the salon, Monsieur le Marquis de la Pincerie had thrown himself into a big easy-chair in which he stretched himself out as if he proposed to go to sleep, extending his long legs in such a way that everybody was obliged to make a détour in order to pass him; the marquis at once began to cough and expectorate contemptuously in the midst of the salon, glancing at everybody as a sultan might glance at his slaves.