Monsieur Trichet, who was at some distance from Monfréville, succeeded none the less in overhearing what he said to Chérubin; and he approached the two friends, saying in a sarcastic tone:
“True, true. Valdieri, the handsome singer, is not at all jealous; but it isn’t safe to trust him! With these Corsicans, there is always the vendetta to guard against. Is your health good, Monsieur de Monfréville?”
“It is some time since you have shown yourself in society.”
“I have been obliged to pay a long visit to my estate near Fontainebleau.”
“Oh, yes!--So you are introducing monsieur in society? He could not find a better guide.”
Chérubin bowed and attempted to say a few words in reply; but after a vain effort, he deemed it more prudent to hold his peace. Monsieur Trichet was about to continue the conversation, when he saw, at the other end of the room, three gentlemen talking with great earnestness; he instantly ran toward them, crying:
“That isn’t so--you’re wrong! I know the story better than you do, and I’ll tell it to you.”
“I need not tell you that that gentleman, whose name is Trichet, is the most inquisitive and loquacious mortal whom it is possible to meet. He can’t see two people talking together without joining their conversation, which is not always agreeable. However, as Monsieur Trichet is a very wealthy old bachelor, who gives very handsome fêtes, and as, aside from his curiosity, he doesn’t lack wit and tells a good story, he is made welcome everywhere, in salons and at the theatres.”
Chérubin was still engaged in looking about at the assembled company, when the door opened and the footman announced:
“Monsieur, Madame and Mademoiselle de Noirmont.”
A lady above middle height, but of dignified and refined bearing, entered first, with a girl of some fourteen or fifteen years. The lady, whose dress, although rich, was almost severe in its simplicity, seemed to be rather more than thirty years of age; her features were beautiful, but grave; her large dark eyes, surmounted by heavy eyebrows, wore a vague and thoughtful expression which might lead one to think that her thoughts were often busy with something different from what she was saying; her lips, somewhat too tightly closed, hardly ever parted in a smile. That cold and haughty face was framed by beautiful tresses of black hair, which fell very low.