But she became confused in discharging her duties, and brought him a glass of cognac. Beaming with smiles, she made the round of the guests, perfectly self-possessed, and looking people straight in the face, while her long train dragged with easy grace behind her. She wore a magnificent gown of white Indian cashmere trimmed with swan's-down, and cut square at the bosom. When the gentlemen were all standing up, sipping their coffee, each with cup in hand and chin high in the air, she began to tackle a tall young fellow named Tissot, whom she considered rather handsome.
Helene had not taken any coffee. She had seated herself apart, with a somewhat wearied expression on her face. Her black velvet gown, unrelieved by any trimming, gave her an air of austerity. In this small drawing-room smoking was allowed, and several boxes of cigars were placed beside her on the pier-table. The doctor drew near; as he selected a cigar he asked her: 'Is Jeanne well?'
'Yes, indeed,' she replied. 'We walked to the Bois to-day, and she romped like a madcap. Oh, she must be sound asleep by now.'
They were both chatting in friendly tones, with the smiling intimacy of people who see each other day after day, when Madame Deberle's voice rose high and shrill:
'Stop! stop! Madame Grandjean can tell you all about it. Didn't I come back from Trouville on the 10th of September? It was raining, and the beach had become quite unbearable!'
Three or four of the ladies were gathered round her while she rattled on about her holdiday at the seaside. Helene found it necessary to rise and join the group.
'We spent a month at Dinard,' said Madame de Chermette. 'Such a delightful place, and such charming society!'
'Behind our chalet was a garden, and we had a terrace overlooking the sea,' went on Madame Deberle. 'As you know, I decided on taking my landau and coachman with me. It was very much handier when I wanted a drive. Then Madame Levasseur came to see us-'
'Yes, one Sunday,' interrupted that lady. 'We were at Cabourg. Your establishment was perfect, but a little too dear, I think.'
'By the way,' broke in Madame Berthier, addressing Juliette, 'didn't Monsieur Malignon give you lessons in swimming?'
Helene noticed a shadow of vexation, of sudden annoyance, pass over Madame Deberle's face. Several times already she had fancied that, on Malignon's name being brought unexpectedly into the conversation, Madame Deberle suddenly seemed perturbed. However, the young woman immediately regained her equanimity.
'A fine swimmer, indeed!' she exclaimed. 'The idea of him ever giving lessons to any one! For my part, I have a mortal fear of cold water -the very sight of people bathing curdles my blood.'
She gave an eloquent shiver, with a shrug of her plump shoulders, as though she were a duck shaking water from her back.
'Then it's a fable?' questioned Madame de Guiraud.
'Of course; and one, I presume, of his own invention. He detests me since he spent a month with us down there.'
People were now beginning to pour in. The ladies, with clusters of flowers in their hair, and round, plump arms, entered smiling and nodding; while the men, each in evening dress and hat in hand, bowed and ventured on some commonplace remark. Madame Deberle, never ceasing her chatter for a moment, extended the tips of her fingers to the friends of the house, many of whom said nothing, but passed on with a bow. However, Mademoiselle Aurelie had just appeared on the scene, and at once went into raptures over Juliette's dress, which was of dark-blue velvet, trimmed with faille silk. At this all the ladies standing round seemed to catch their first glimpse of the dress, and declared it was exquisite, truly exquisite. It came, they learned, from Worth's, and they discussed it for five minutes. The guests who had drunk their coffee had placed their empty cups here and there on the tray and on the pier-tables; only one old gentleman had not yet finished, as between every mouthful he paused to converse with a lady. A warm perfume, the aroma of the coffee and the ladies' dresses intermingled, permeated the apartment.
'You know I have had nothing,' remonstrated young Monsieur Tissot with Pauline, who had been chatting with him about an artist to whose studio her father had escorted her with a view to examining the pictures.
'What! have you had nothing? Surely I brought you a cup of coffee?'
'No, mademoiselle, I assure you.'
'But I insist on your having something. See, here is some Chartreuse.'
Madame Deberle had just directed a meaning nod towards her husband. The doctor, understanding her, thereupon opened the door of a large drawing-room, into which they all filed, while a servant removed the coffee- tray. There was almost a chill atmosphere in this spacious apartment, through which streamed the white light of six lamps and a chandelier with ten wax candles. There were already some ladies there, sitting in a semi-circle round the fireplace, but only two or three men were present, standing amidst the sea of outspread skirts. And through the open doorway of the smaller drawing-room rang the shrill voice of Pauline, who had lingered behind in company with young Tissot.
'Now that I have poured it out, I'm determined you shall drink it. What would you have me do with it? Pierre has carried off the tray.'
Then she entered the larger room, a vision in white, with her dress trimmed with swan's-down. Her ruddy lips parted, displaying her teeth, as she smilingly announced: 'Here comes Malignon, the exquisite!'
Hand-shaking and bowing were now the order of the day. Monsieur Deberle had placed himself near the door. His wife, seated with some other ladies on an extremely low couch, rose every other second. When Malignon made his appearance, she affected to turn away her head. He was dressed to perfection; his hair had been curled, and was parted behind, down to his very neck. On the threshold he had stuck an eye-glass in his right eye with a slight grimace, which, according to Pauline, was just the thing; and now he cast a glance around the room. Having nonchalantly and silently shaken hands with the doctor, he made his way towards Madame Deberle, in front of whom he respectfully bent his tall figure.
'Oh, it's you!' she exclaimed, in a voice loud enough to be heard by everybody. 'It seems you go in for swimming now.'
He did not guess her meaning, but nevertheless replied, by way of a joke:
'Certainly; I once saved a Newfoundland dog from drowning.'
The ladies thought this extremely funny, and even Madame Deberle seemed disarmed.
'Well, I'll allow you to save Newfoundlands,' she answered, 'but you know very well I did not bathe once at Trouville.'
'Oh! you're speaking of the lesson I gave you!' he exclaimed. 'Didn't I tell you one night in your dining-room how to move your feet and hands about?'
All the ladies were convulsed with mirth-he was delightful! Juliette shrugged her shoulders; it was impossible to engage him in a serious talk. Then she rose to meet a lady whose first visit this was to her house, and who was a superb pianist. Helene, seated near the fire, her lovely face unruffled by any emotion, looked on and listened. Malignon, especially, seemed to interest her. She saw him execute a strategical movement which brought him to Madame Deberle's side, and she could hear the conversation that ensued behind her chair. Of a sudden there was a change in the tones, and she leaned back to gather the drift of what was being said.
'Why didn't you come yesterday?' asked Malignon. 'I waited for you till six o'clock.'
'Nonsense; you are mad,' murmured Juliette.
Thereupon Malignon loudly lisped: 'Oh! you don't believe the story about my Newfoundland! Yet I received a medal for it, and I'll show it to you.'
Then he added, in a whisper: 'You gave me your promise-remember.'
A family group now entered the drawing-room, and Juliette broke into complimentary greetings, while Malignon reappeared amongst the ladies, glass in eye. Helene had become quite pale since overhearing those hastily spoken words. It was as though a thunderbolt, or something equally unforeseen and horrible, had fallen on her. How could thoughts of treachery enter into the mind of that woman whose life was so happy, whose face betrayed no signs of sorrow, whose cheeks had the freshness of the rose? She had always known her to be devoid of brains, displaying an amiable egotism which seemed a guarantee that she would never commit a foolish action. And over such a fellow as Malignon, too! The scenes in the garden of an afternoon flashed back on her memory-she recalled Juliette smiling lovingly as the doctor kissed her hair. Their love for one another had seemed real enough. An inexplicable
