. Madame Tissot declared Balzac to be
unreadable, and Malignon did not deny it, but remarked that here and
there, at intervals far and few, some very fine passages occurred in
Balzac.

"A little silence, please!" all at once exclaimed Pauline; "she's just
going to play."

The lady whose talent as a musician had been so much spoken of had
just sat down to the piano. In accordance with the rules of
politeness, every head was turned towards her. But in the general
stillness which ensued the deep voices of the men conversing in the
small drawing-room could be heard. Madame Deberle was in despair.

"They are a nuisance!" she muttered. "Let them stay there, if they
don't want to come in; but at least they ought to hold their tongues!"

She gave the requisite orders to Pauline, who, intensely delighted,
ran into the adjacent apartment to carry out her instructions.

"You must know, gentlemen, that a lady is going to play," she said,
with the quiet boldness of a maiden in queenly garb. "You are
requested to keep silence."

She spoke in a very loud key, her voice being naturally shrill. And,
as she lingered with the men, laughing and quizzing, the noise grew
more pronounced than ever. There was a discussion going on among these
males, and she supplied additional matter for argument. In the larger
drawing-room Madame Deberle was in agony. The guests, moreover, had
been sated with music, and no enthusiasm was displayed; so the pianist
resumed her seat, biting her lips, notwithstanding the laudatory
compliments which the lady of the house deemed it her duty to lavish
on her.

Helene was pained. Henri scarcely seemed to see her; he had made no
attempt to approach her, and only at intervals smiled to her from
afar. At the earlier part of the evening she had felt relieved by his
prudent reserve; but since she had learnt the secret of the two others
she wished for something--she knew not what--some display of
affection, or at least interest, on his part. Her breast was stirred
with confused yearnings, and every imaginable evil thought. Did he no
longer care for her, that he remained so indifferent to her presence?
Oh! if she could have told him everything! If she could apprise him of
the unworthiness of the woman who bore his name! Then, while some
short, merry catches resounded from the piano, she sank into a dreamy
state. She imagined that Henri had driven Juliette from his home, and
she was living with him as his wife in so