im towards a doorway. "We will now
have coffee in the little drawing-room."

The guests, in couples, followed her. Two ladies and two gentlemen,
however, lagged behind the others, continuing their conversation,
without thought of joining the procession. The drawing-room reached,
all constraint vanished, and the joviality which had marked the
dessert made its reappearance. The coffee was already served on a
large lacquer tray on a table. Madame Deberle walked round like a
hostess who is anxious to satisfy the various tastes of her guests.
But it was Pauline who ran about the most, and more particularly
waited on the gentlemen. There were a dozen persons present, about the
regulation number of people invited to the house every Wednesday, from
December onwards. Later in the evening, at ten o'clock, a great many
others would make their appearance.

"Monsieur de Guiraud, a cup of coffee," exclaimed Pauline, as she
halted in front of a diminutive, bald-headed man. "Ah! no, I remember,
you don't take any. Well, then, a glass of Chartreuse?"

But she became confused in discharging her duties, and brought him a
glass of cognac. Beaming with smiles, she made the round of the
guests, perfectly self-possessed, and looking people straight in the
face, while her long train dragged with easy grace behind her. She
wore a magnificent gown of white Indian cashmere trimmed with
swan's-down, and cut square at the bosom. When the gentlemen were all
standing up, sipping their coffee, each with cup in hand and chin high
in the air, she began to tackle a tall young fellow named Tissot, whom
she considered rather handsome.

Helene had not taken any coffee. She had seated herself apart, with a
somewhat wearied expression on her face. Her black velvet gown,
unrelieved by any trimming, gave her an air of austerity. In this
small drawing-room smoking was allowed, and several boxes of cigars
were placed beside her on the pier-table. The doctor drew near; as he
selected a cigar he asked her: "Is Jeanne well?"

"Yes, indeed," she replied. "We walked to the Bois to-day, and she
romped like a madcap. Oh, she must be sound asleep by now."

They were both chatting in friendly tones, with the smiling intimacy
of people who see each other day after day, when Madame Deberle's
voice rose high and shrill:

"Stop! stop! Madame Grandjean can tell you all about it. Didn't I come
back from Trouville on the 10th of September? It was raining, and the
beach