“What a very pretty jacket you have on.”

“Do you think so?  My maid made it.”

“Then I shall get Anastasia to take a lesson from Flore—­”

“So, then, my dear, I count on your friendship to refrain from bringing trouble in my house.”

“But, my child, I do not know how you can conceive that I should fall in love with your husband; he is coarse and fat as a deputy of the centre.  He is short and ugly—­Ah!  I will allow that he is generous, but that is all you can say for him, and this is a quality which is all in all only to opera girls; so that you can understand, my dear, that if I were choosing a lover, as you seem to suppose I am, I wouldn’t choose an old man like your baron.  If I have given him any hopes, if I have received him, it was certainly for the purpose of amusing myself, and of giving you liberty; for I believed you had a weakness for young Rostanges.”

“I?” exclaimed Louise, “God preserve me from it, my dear; he is the most intolerable coxcomb in the world.  No, I assure you, I love my husband!  You may laugh as you choose; it is true.  I know it may seem ridiculous, but consider, he has made my fortune, he is no miser, and he is everything to me, for it has been my unhappy lot to be left an orphan.  Now even if I did not love him, I ought to try to preserve his esteem.  Have I a family who will some day give me shelter?”

“Come, my darling, let us speak no more about it,” said Emilie, interrupting her friend, “for it tires me to death.”

After a few trifling remarks the baroness left.

“How is this, monsieur?” cried Madame B-----, opening the door of the
closet where the baron was frozen with cold, for this incident took
place in winter; “how is this?  Aren’t you ashamed of yourself for not
adoring a little wife who is so interesting?  Don’t speak to me of
love; you may idolize me, as you say you do, for a certain time, but
you will never love me as you love Louise.  I can see that in your
heart I shall never outweigh the interest inspired by a virtuous wife,
children, and a family circle.  I should one day be deserted and become
the object of your bitter reflections.  You would coldly say of me ’I
have had that woman!’ That phrase I have heard pronounced by men with
the most insulting indifference.  You see, monsieur, that I reason in
cold blood, and that I do not love you, because you never would be
able to love me.”

“What must I do then to convince you of my love?” cried the baron, fixing his gaze on the young woman.

She had never appeared to him so ravishingly beautiful as at that moment, when her soft voice poured forth a torrent of words whose sternness was belied by the grace of her gestures, by the pose of her head and by her coquettish attitude.