She found Monsieur Belleisle waiting for her, clad also in becoming evening dress, and looking handsomer than she had ever seen him look before. He glanced at her approvingly from head to foot, kissed her, and led her to a carriage, which was waiting at the door, and which already held Madame de Fontenay. As soon as they were seated the horses moved off; whither, Madeline did not know. A drive of a few minutes brought them to the door of a brilliantly lighted building. The horses were pulled up; Monsieur Belleisle alighted, handed out Madame de Fontenay, then tenderly lifted Madeline in his arms and put her on the ground. He placed her hand upon his arm and led her forward—through a great lobby, and finally into a room where some two hundred people were seated at dinner.
The entrance of the three last guests attracted a good deal of attention. Madeline, still holding her husbands arm, and led by him down one side of the long room and up the other, began to blush and cast down her eyes in confusion, for she felt herself rapidly becoming the centre of observation.
At length places were found, and they commenced dinner. Again Madeline was confused and abashed, not by the public gaze this time, but by the assiduous attentions of her husband and Madame de Fontenay. They treated her if she were some princess, who condescended when she smiled upon them and did them honour when she spoke. The girl was more troubled than ever, but she no longer tried to solve the strange problem. She received the homage of her husband with becoming gentleness, and ate her dinner as contentedly as she could under the circumstances.
Dinner over, Monsieur Belleisle rose, offered Madeline his arm, and, with much bustle and turmoil, conducted her from the room—the pallid widow following. Again she felt herself the centre of attraction, and, feeling less abashed, she held up her head with becoming grace and confidence, and swept her bright eyes along the ranks of flushed, admiring faces.
‘My dear Madeline,’ said Monsieur Belleisle to her that night, ‘it is not always a rich wife who brings happiness to a man. I married a treasure when I married you, chérie.’ To the widow he said, when the two were closeted alone—
‘What say you to our plan now, Madame?’
‘What I said before. The girl has beauty enough to send Paris mad, if she remains in the hands of a careful master.’