blondes, and the same intoxicating
perfume, the same confused, pleasant buzzing, made by waves of heat and
intangible wings, that caresses all the flowers in the garden in
summer. At times a little laugh, ascending in that luminous atmosphere,
a quicker breath, made plumes and curls tremble, and attracted
attention to a lovely profile. Such was the aspect of the salon.

A few men were there, very few, all persons of distinction, laden with
years and decorations, talking on the arm of a divan or leaning over
the back of a chair with the condescending air we assume in conversing
with children. But amid the placid murmur of the private conversations,
one voice rang out, loud and discordant, the voice of the Nabob, who
was threading his way through that social conservatory with the
self-assurance due to his immense fortune and a certain contempt for
woman which he had brought with him from the Orient.

At that moment, sprawling upon a chair, with his great yellow-gloved
hands awkwardly clasped, he was talking with a very beautiful woman,
whose unusual face--much animation upon features of a severe cast--was
noticeable by reason of its pallor among the surrounding pretty faces,
just as her dress, all white, classic in its draping and moulded to her
graceful, willowy figure, contrasted with much richer costumes, not one
of which had its character of bold simplicity. De Gery, from his
corner, gazed at that smooth, narrow forehead beneath the fringe of
hair brushed low, those long, wide-open eyes of a deep blue, an abysmal
blue, that mouth which ceased to smile only to relax its classic
outline in a weary, spiritless expression. All in all, the somewhat
haughty aspect of an exceptional being.

Some one near him mentioned her name--Felicia Ruys. Thereupon he
understood the rare attraction of that girl, inheritress of her
father's genius, whose new-born celebrity had reached as far as his
province, with the halo of a reputation for great beauty. While he was
gazing at her, admiring her slightest movement, a little puzzled by the
enigma presented by that beautiful face, he heard a whispered
conversation behind him.

"Just see how affable she is with the Nabob! Suppose the duke should
come!"

"Is the Duc de Mora expected?"

"To be sure. The party is given for him; to have him meet Jansoulet."

"And you think that the duke and Mademoiselle Ruys--"

"Where have you come from? It's a liaison known to all Paris. It dates
from