assure you. It would seem that there is a veritable Mme. Jenkins
somewhere, but not the lady we know. Besides, have you noticed----"

The dialogue continued in an undertone. Mme. Jenkins advanced, bowing,
smiling, while the doctor, stopping a tray that was being borne
round, brought her a glass of claret with the alacrity of a mother, an
impresario, a lover. Calumny, calumny, ineffaceable defilement! To the
provincial young man, Jenkins's attentions now seemed exaggerated.
He fancied that there was something affected about them, something
deliberate, and, too, in the words of thanks which she addressed in
a low voice to her husband he thought he could detect a timidity, a
submissiveness, not consonant with the dignity of the legitimate spouse,
glad and proud in an assured happiness. "But Society is a hideous
affair!" said de Gery to himself, dismayed and with cold hands. The
smiles around him had upon him the effect of hypocritical grimaces.
He felt shame and disgust. Then suddenly revolting: "Come, it is not
possible." And, as though in reply to this exclamation, behind him
the scandalous tongue resumed in an easy tone: "After all, you know, I
cannot vouch for its truth. I am only repeating what I have heard. But
look! Baroness Hemerlingue. He gets all Paris, this Jenkins."

The baroness moved forward on the arm of the doctor, who had rushed to
meet her, and appeared, despite all his control of his facial muscles, a
little ill at ease and discomfited. He had thought, the good Jenkins, to
profit by the opportunity afforded by this evening party to bring
about a reconciliation between his friend Hemerlingue and his friend
Jansoulet, who were his two most wealthy clients and embarrassed him
greatly with their intestine feud. The Nabob was perfectly willing.
He bore his old chum no grudge. Their quarrel had arisen out of
Hemerlingue's marriage with one of the favourites of the last Bey. "A
story with a woman at the bottom of it, in short," said Jansoulet, and
a story which he would have been glad to see come to an end, since his
exuberant nature found every antipathy oppressive. But it seemed that
the baron was not anxious for any settlement of their differences; for,
notwithstanding his word passed to Jenkins, his wife arrived alone, to
the Irishman's great chagrin.

She was a tall, slender, frail person, with eyebrows that suggested a
bird's plumes, and a youthful intimidated manner. She was aged about
thirty but looke