“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.”