"You'll have to get rid of Monsieur Beaujour." This was the rich lover.
"Well, then you'll have to tell Marcel he mustn't come near you until Louis has gone."
"And see him go off with that Jeanne at the Clair de la Lune Concert!"
"Couldn't Louis pay for the horses?" suggested Sylvia.
"I'm not going to let him waste his money like that; besides, he'll only be here two nights. _C'est assommant, tu sais_," Blanche sighed.
In the middle of the discussion Louis arrived, a very short little _sous-officier_ with kind watery eyes and a mustache that could only be seen properly out of doors. Louis had not had more than five minutes with his _fiancée_ before M. Beaujour drove up with the wagonette and pair. He was the son of a rich shipping agent in St.-Nazaire, with a stiff manner that he mistook for evidence of aristocratic descent, and bad teeth that prevented him from smiling more than he could help.
"I shall tell him you're my brother," said Blanche, quickly. Louis began to protest.
"_Pas de boniment_," Blanche went on. "I must be pleasant to strangers in front. Madame Bassompierre insists on that, and you know I've never given you any cause to be really jealous."
M. Beaujour looked very much surprised when Blanche presented Louis to him as her brother; Sylvia, remembering the tall cuirassier with the fierce mustaches that had also been introduced as Blanche's brother, appreciated his sensations. However, he accepted the relationship and invited Louis to accompany them on the drive, putting him with Sylvia and seating himself next Blanche on the box; Louis, who found Sylvia sympathetic, talked all the time about the wonderful qualities of Blanche, continually turning round to adore her shapely back.
M. Beaujour invited Louis to a supper he was giving that evening in honor of Blanche, and supposed, perhaps a little maliciously, that Monsieur would be glad to meet his brother again, who was also to be of the party. Louis looked at Blanche in perplexity; she frowned at him and said nothing.
That supper, to which M. and Mme. Perron with several other members of the company were invited, was a very restless meal. First, Blanche would go out with the host while Marcel and Louis glared alternately at each other and the door; then she would withdraw with Louis, while M. Beaujour and Marcel glared and fidgeted; finally she would disappear with Marcel, once for such a long time that Sylvia grew nervous and went outside to find her. Blanche was in tears; Marcel was stalking up and down the passage, twisting his fierce mustaches and muttering his annoyance. Sylvia was involved in a bitter discussion about the various degrees of Blanche's love, and in the end Blanche cried that her whole life had been shattered, and rushed back to the supper-room. Sylvia took this opportunity of representing Blanche's point of view to Marcel, and so successful was she with her tale of the emotional stress caused by the conflict of love with prudence that finally Marcel burst into tears, called down benedictions upon Sylvia's youthful head, and rejoined the supper-party, where he drank a great quantity of red wine and squeezed Blanche's hand under the table for the rest of the evening.