“I grant you they are dangerous symptoms,” assented the senator, shaking his head, and preparing a pinch from his enamelled snuff-box.
“A much more ominous symptom, to my mind, is that the nation is dreadfully ennuyée,” observed the Deputy du Centre, with a weighty emphasis on the adverb. “When France ennuies herself, it is time to cry, Take care.”
“Who is to take care?” said the Princess de M——.
“The government, madame. We have had this one eighteen years now; three years beyond the lease usually granted to governments in France, and the people are thoroughly tired of it. Paris especially is ennuyée of late.”
“Paris is always ennuyée unless she has a war, or an exhibition, or some kind of a carnival, to keep her in good humor,” said Berthe; “but Paris is not France.”
“Pardon, madame, Paris c’est le monde!” replied M. du Centre, in melodramatic accent.
“Le monde, non,” retorted Madame de M——; “le demi-monde peut-être.”
There was a general laugh at this sortie of the princess, and before it subsided a group of new arrivals, amongst whom were the Snow-Storm and her mother, were ushered in, and broke up the controversy. Several of the company, some who had not spoken a word to Berthe, but had merely made acte de présence in the crowd, withdrew. Madame de Beaucœur and the Princess de M—— remained on.
“Quelle charmante jeune fille!” said the former sotto voce to the princess, as Madame de Galliac and her daughter sat down near them. “Who is she?”
“Mademoiselle de Galliac. She is the partie of the season. On dit gives her four millions.”