r empty cups here and there on
the tray and on the pier-tables; only one old gentleman had not yet
finished, as between every mouthful he paused to converse with a lady.
A warm perfume, the aroma of the coffee and the ladies' dresses
intermingled, permeated the apartment.

"You know I have had nothing," remonstrated young Monsieur Tissot with
Pauline, who had been chatting with him about an artist to whose
studio her father had escorted her with a view to examining the
pictures.

"What! have you had nothing? Surely I brought you a cup of coffee?"

"No, mademoiselle, I assure you."

"But I insist on your having something. See, here is some Chartreuse."

Madame Deberle had just directed a meaning nod towards her husband.
The doctor, understanding her, thereupon opened the door of a large
drawing-room, into which they all filed, while a servant removed the
coffee-tray. There was almost a chill atmosphere in this spacious
apartment, through which streamed the white light of six lamps and a
chandelier with ten wax candles. There were already some ladies there,
sitting in a semi-circle round the fireplace, but only two or three
men were present, standing amidst the sea of outspread skirts. And
through the open doorway of the smaller drawing-room rang the shrill
voice of Pauline, who had lingered behind in company with young
Tissot.

"Now that I have poured it out, I'm determined you shall drink it.
What would you have me do with it? Pierre has carried off the tray."

Then she entered the larger room, a vision in white, with her dress
trimmed with swan's-down. Her ruddy lips parted, displaying her teeth,
as she smilingly announced: "Here comes Malignon, the exquisite!"

Hand-shaking and bowing were now the order of the day. Monsieur
Deberle had placed himself near the door. His wife, seated with some
other ladies on an extremely low couch, rose every other second. When
Malignon made his appearance, she affected to turn away her head. He
was dressed to perfection; his hair had been curled, and was parted
behind, down to his very neck. On the threshold he had stuck an
eye-glass in his right eye with a slight grimace, which, according to
Pauline, was just the thing; and now he cast a glance around the room.
Having nonchalantly and silently shaken hands with the doctor, he made
his way towards Madame Deberle, in front of whom he respectfully bent
his tall figure.

"Oh, it's you!" she exclaimed, in a voice loud enough to