Lucan informed her in a few words of the arrangement which had just been settled upon.  A sudden flash darted across Julia’s eyes; her brows became contracted; she shrugged her shoulders slightly without replying, and returned into the ball-room, waltzing through the crowd with the same tranquil insolence.  She betook herself again to the arm of a naval officer, and seemed to enjoy whirling in all her splendor.  And indeed her ball-dress added a strange luster to her beauty.  Her shoulders and throat, emerging from her dress with a sort of chaste indifference, retained even in the animation of the dance the cold and lustrous purity of marble.

Lucan asked her to waltz with him; she hesitated, but having consulted her memory, she discovered that she had not yet exhausted the list of naval officers who had swooped down in squadrons upon that rich prey.  At the end of an hour she got tired of being admired and called for the carriage.  As she was draping herself in her wrappings in the vestibule, her step-father volunteered his services.

“No!  I beg of you,” she said, impatiently; “men don’t know—­don’t know at all!”

Then she threw herself in the carriage with a wearied look.  However, as the horses were starting: 

“Smoke, sir,” she said with a better grace.

Lucan thanked her for the permission, but without availing himself of it; then, while making all his little arrangements of neighborly comfort: 

“You were remarkably handsome to-night, my dear child!” he said.

“Monsieur,” said Julia, in a nonchalant but affirmative tone, “I forbid you to think me handsome, and I forbid you to call me ‘my dear child!’”

“As you please,” said Lucan.  “Well, then, you are not handsome, you are not dear to me, and you are not a child.”

“As for being a child, no!” she said, energetically.

She wound her vail around her head, crossed her arms over her bosom, and settled herself in her corner, where a stray moonbeam came occasionally to play over her whiteness.

“May I sleep?” she asked.

“Why, most certainly!  Shall I close the window?”

“If you please.  My flowers will not incommode you?”

“Not in the least.”

After a pause: 

“Monsieur de Lucan?” resumed Julia.

“Dear madam?”

“Do explain to me in what consist the usages of society; for there are things which I do not understand.  Is it admissible—­is it proper to allow a woman of my age and a gentleman of yours to return from a ball, tete-a-tete, at two o’clock in the morning?”

“But,” said Lucan, not without a certain gravity, “I am not a gentleman; I am your mother’s husband.”

“Ah! that is true; of course, you are my mother’s husband!” she said, emphasizing these words in a ringing voice, which caused Lucan to fear some explosion.

But, appearing to overcome a violent emotion, she went on in an almost cheerful tone: