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 remarked the leaning of pious women
toward scamps; some have expressed surprise at this taste, considering
it opposed to Christian virt