“Monsieur de Guiraud, a cup of coffee,” exclaimed Pauline, as she halted in front of a diminutive, bald-headed man. “Ah! no, I remember, you don’t take any. Well, then, a glass of Chartreuse?” 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. Hélène 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. Hélène 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?” Hélène 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.”