ard?"

"Yes."

"Du Bousquier?"

"And that handsome Suzanne."

"Does Mademoiselle Cormon know of it?"

"No."

"Ha!"

This was the /piano/ of the scandal; the /rinforzando/ would break
forth as soon as the first course had been removed. Suddenly Monsieur
de Valois's eyes lighted on Madame Granson, arrayed in her green hat
with bunches of auriculas, and beaming with evident joy. Was it merely
the joy of opening the concert? Though such a piece of news was like a
gold mine to work in the monotonous lives of these personages, the
observant and distrustful chevalier thought he recognized in the
worthy woman a far more extended sentiment; namely, the joy caused by
the triumph of self-interest. Instantly he turned to examine Athanase,
and detected him in the significant silence of deep meditation.
Presently, a look cast by the young man on Mademoiselle Cormon carried
to the soul of the chevalier a sudden gleam. That momentary flash of
lightning enabled him to read the past.

"Ha! the devil!" he said to himself; "what a checkmate I'm exposed
to!"

Monsieur de Valois now approached Mademoiselle Cormon, and offered his
arm. The old maid's feeling to the chevalier was that of respectful
consideration; and certainly his name, together with the position he
occupied among the aristocratic constellations of the department made
him the most brilliant ornament of her salon. In her inmost mind
Mademoiselle Cormon had wished for the last dozen years to become
Madame de Valois. That name was like the branch of a tree, to which
the ideas which /swarmed/ in her mind about rank, nobility, and the
external qualities of a husband had fastened. But, though the
Chevalier de Valois was the man chosen by her heart, and mind, and
ambition, that elderly ruin, combed and curled like a little
Saint-John in a procession, alarmed Mademoiselle Cormon. She saw the
gentleman in him, but she could not see a husband. The indifference
which the chevalier affected as to marriage, above all, the apparent
purity of his morals in a house which abounded in grisettes, did
singular harm in her mind to Monsieur de Valois against his
expectations. The worthy man, who showed such judgment in the matter
of his annuity, was at fault here. Without being herself aware of it,
the thoughts of Mademoiselle Cormon on the too virtuous chevalier
might be translated thus:--

"What a pity that he isn't a trifle dissipated!"

Observers of the human heart have remarke