fashionable people to race-horses, which, in truth, are good
for nothing, but which are the glory of the equine race.

Bertin, irritated by this adversary, preserved a politely disdainful
silence. But suddenly the Baron's imbecilities exasperated him, and,
interrupting him adroitly, he recounted the life of a man of fashion
from his rising to his going to rest, without omitting anything. All the
details, cleverly described, made up an irresistibly amusing silhouette.
Once could see the fine gentleman dressed by his valet, first expressing
a few general ideas to the hairdresser that came to shave him; then,
when taking his morning stroll, inquiring of the grooms about the health
of the horses; then trotting through the avenues of the Bois, caring
only about saluting and being saluted; then breakfasting opposite his
wife, who in her turn had been out in her coupe, speaking to her only to
enumerate the names of the persons he had met that morning; then
passing from drawing-room to drawing-room until evening, refreshing his
intelligence by contact with others of his circle, dining with a prince,
where the affairs of Europe were discussed, and finishing the evening
behind the scenes at the Opera, where his timid pretensions at being a
gay dog were innocently satisfied by the appearance of being surrounded
by naughtiness.

The picture was so true, although its satire wounded no one present,
that laughter ran around the table.

The Duchess, shaken by the suppressed merriment of fat persons, relieved
herself by discreet chuckles.

"Really, you are too funny!" she said at last; "you will make me die of
laughter."

Bertin replied, with some excitement:

"Oh, Madame, in the polite world one does not die of laughter! One
hardly laughs, even. We have sufficient amiability, as a matter of
good taste, to pretend to be amused and appear to laugh. The grimace
is imitated well enough, but the real thing is never done. Go to the
theaters of the common people--there you will see laughter. Go among the
_bourgeoisie_, when they are amusing themselves; you will see them laugh
to suffocation. Go to the soldiers' quarters, you will see men choking,
their eyes full of tears, doubled up on their beds over the jokes of
some funny fellow. But in our drawing-rooms we never laugh. I tell you
that we simulate everything, even laughter."

Musadieu interrupted him:

"Permit me to say that you are very severe. It seems to me that you
yourself,