what has been
seen and heard, to find out new facts and repeat them again to others,
joined to a sort of vague, commonplace, almost intrusive pity, are
sentiments, which sometimes in hours of great disaster, produce what
appears to wear the look of sympathy. A fortnight after M. de Nailles's
death, between the acts of Scylla and Charybdis, the principal parts in
which were taken by young d'Etaples and Isabelle Ray, the company, as
it ate ices, was glibly discussing the real drama which had produced
in their own elegant circle much of the effect a blow has upon an
ant-hill--fear, agitation, and a tumultuous rush to the scene of the
disaster.

Great indignation was expressed against the man who had risked the
fortune of his family in speculation. Oh! the thing had been going
on for a long while. His fortune had been gradually melting away;
Grandchaux was loaded down with mortgages and would bring almost nothing
at a forced sale.

Everybody forgot that had M. de Nailles's speculations been successful
they would have been called matters of business, conducted with great
ability on a large scale. When a performer falls from the tightrope,
who remembers all the times he has not failed? It is simply said that he
fell from his own carelessness.

"The poor Baroness is touchingly resigned," said Madame de Villegry,
with a deep sigh; "and heaven knows how many other cares she has besides
the loss of money! I don't mean only the death of her husband--and you
know how much they were attached to each other--I am speaking of that
unaccountable resolution of Jacqueline's."

Madame d'Avrigny here came forward with her usual equanimity which
nothing disturbed, unless it were something which interfered with the
success of her salon.

She was of course very sorry for her friends in trouble, but the
vicissitudes that had happened to her theatricals she had more at heart.

"After all," she said, "the first act did not go off badly, did it? The
musical part made up for the rest. That divine Strahlberg is ready for
any emergency. How well she sang that air of 'La Petite Mariee!' It
was exquisite, but I regretted Jacqueline. She was so charming in that
lively little part. What a catastrophe!

"What a terrible catastrophe! Were you speaking of the retreat she
wishes to make in a convent? Well, I quite understand how she feels
about it! I should feel the same myself. In the bewilderment of a first
grief one does not care to see anything