Alfred was in his own apartment, dressing—a very serious occupation for a dandy; but he was doing it carelessly, because for the moment there was no one whom he was especially desirous to please. To be sure he still gave a thought to Madame de Gerville from time to time, for the vivacious Jenny had really attracted him; but she had taken offence because he had thought Clara pretty and had told her so. Alfred, who could not understand how a woman could take offence at anything so natural, had done nothing to appease Jenny’s anger; and as he dressed, he said to himself:
"Women are becoming unreasonably exacting! They would like us not to notice that a woman we happen to have on our arm is pretty; but they are very willing that we should think ugly women pretty. Oh! they are exceedingly kind to those who are ugly; they persist in assuring us that they are good-looking; ‘you are too particular,’ they will say; ‘that woman is not bad-looking.’—But when we say: ‘Look! there’s a lovely woman!’ they cry: ‘Mon Dieu! where in heaven’s name are your eyes? I thought that you had better taste than that. What good points do you see in her?’—Mon Dieu! mesdames, why don’t you remember that one is never a just judge in his own cause? You may say what you please, but men will always be better able than you to detect in a woman that indefinable something that imparts charm to a face which you consider very ordinary; and, by the same token, you should be more just to men than we are."
Alfred was disturbed in his reflections by a great noise in his salon, and an instant later the door of his dressing-room was suddenly thrown open, and Robineau, rushing in like a bombshell, threw himself into his arms so violently that he overturned a very dainty washstand, at which Albert was performing his ablutions.
"Oh! my friend! my dear friend!" cried Robineau, whose face was transfigured by excitement, "how happy I am! Pray embrace me! No, it is my place to embrace you!—Ah! you don’t know,—you have no suspicion!"
"What I do know is that you rush in here like a madman," rejoined Alfred, "and that you have broken a most exquisite washstand from Jacob’s—a perfectly beautiful thing."
"I don’t care for that, my friend; I’ll give you another—two, three, if you choose! I’ll give you anything you want!"
Alfred scrutinized Robineau and tried to read in his eyes, while Robineau tried to calm himself a little and to make himself understood.
"My dear Alfred, my joy, my bewilderment must seem extraordinary to you—I can understand that; they produce the same effect on me, and there are times when I think I am dreaming. But it isn’t a dream, thank God!—When I left you a week ago, after your ball, what was I?"
"Faith! you were drunk."
"That isn’t what I mean.—I was still a mere clerk, a humble copyist at fifteen hundred francs a year."