aced underneath in black letters: "Mademoiselle
Rosanette Bron, belonging to M. Frederick Moreau of Nogent."

It was indeed she--or, at least, like her--her full face displayed, her
bosom uncovered, with her hair hanging loose, and with a purse of red
velvet in her hands, while behind her a peacock leaned his beak over her
shoulder, covering the wall with his immense plumage in the shape of a
fan.

Pellerin had got up this exhibition in order to compel Frederick to pay,
persuaded that he was a celebrity, and that all Paris, roused to take
his part, would be interested in this wretched piece of work.

Was this a conspiracy? Had the painter and the journalist prepared their
attack on him at the same time?

His duel had not put a stop to anything. He had become an object of
ridicule, and everyone had been laughing at him.

Three days afterwards, at the end of June, the Northern shares having
had a rise of fifteen francs, as he had bought two thousand of them
within the past month, he found that he had made thirty thousand francs
by them. This caress of fortune gave him renewed self-confidence. He
said to himself that he wanted nobody's help, and that all his
embarrassments were the result of his timidity and indecision. He ought
to have begun his intrigue with the Marechale with brutal directness and
refused Hussonnet the very first day. He should not have compromised
himself with Pellerin. And, in order to show that he was not a bit
embarrassed, he presented himself at one of Madame Dambreuse's ordinary
evening parties.

In the middle of the anteroom, Martinon, who had arrived at the same
time as he had, turned round:

"What! so you are visiting here?" with a look of surprise, and as if
displeased at seeing him.

"Why not?"

And, while asking himself what could be the cause of such a display of
hostility on Martinon's part, Frederick made his way into the
drawing-room.

The light was dim, in spite of the lamps placed in the corners, for the
three windows, which were wide open, made three large squares of black
shadow stand parallel with each other. Under the pictures, flower-stands
occupied, at a man's height, the spaces on the walls, and a silver
teapot with a samovar cast their reflections in a mirror on the
background. There arose a murmur of hushed voices. Pumps could be heard
creaking on the carpet. He could distinguish a number of black coats,
then a round table lighted up by a large shaded lamp, seven