erlasting
friendship away.

Henriette, fortunately, became anxious on hearing the violent shouting.
She rose and went to shame the smokers for thus forsaking the ladies
to go and quarrel together. They then returned to the drawing-room,
perspiring, breathing hard, and still shaken by their anger. And as
Henriette, with her eyes on the clock, remarked that they certainly
would not see Fagerolles that evening, they, began to sneer again,
exchanging glances. Ah! he had a fine scent, and no mistake; he wouldn't
be caught associating with old friends, who had become troublesome, and
whom he hated.

In fact, Fagerolles did not come. The evening finished laboriously. They
once more went back to the dining-room, where the tea was served on a
Russian tablecloth embroidered with a stag-hunt in red thread; and under
the tapers a plain cake was displayed, with plates full of sweetstuff
and pastry, and a barbarous collection of liqueurs and spirits, whisky,
hollands, Chio raki, and kummel. The servant also brought some punch,
and bestirred himself round the table, while the mistress of the house
filled the teapot from the samovar boiling in front of her. But all the
comfort, all the feast for the eyes and the fine perfume of the tea did
not move their hearts. The conversation again turned on the success that
some men achieved and the ill-luck that befell others. For instance, was
it not shameful that art should be dishonoured by all those medals, all
those crosses, all those rewards, which were so badly distributed to
boot? Were artists always to remain like little boys at school? All
the universal platitude came from the docility and cowardice which were
shown, as in the presence of ushers, so as to obtain good marks.

They had repaired to the drawing-room once more, and Sandoz, who was
greatly distressed, had begun to wish that they would take themselves
off, when he noticed Mathilde and Gagniere seated side by side on a sofa
and talking languishingly of music, while the others remained exhausted,
lacking saliva and power of speech. Gagniere philosophised and poetised
in a state of ecstasy, while Mathilde rolled up her eyes and went into
raptures as if titillated by some invisible wing. They had caught sight
of each other on the previous Sunday at the concert at the Cirque, and
they apprised each other of their enjoyment in alternate, far-soaring
sentences.

'Ah! that Meyerbeer, monsieur, the overture of "Struensee," that
fun