France -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; Women -- Psychology -- Fiction
In the meantime Mademoiselle Aurelie was running over the ladies’ names
for Hélène’s benefit, as this was only the latter’s second evening
visit to the doctor’s house. The most substantial people of Passy, some
of them rolling in riches, were present. And the old maid leaned
towards Hélène and whispered in her ear: “Yes, it seems it’s all
arranged. Madame de Chermette is going to marry her daughter to that
tall fair fellow with whom she has flirted for the last eighteen
months. Well, never mind, that will be one mother-in-law who’ll be fond
of her son-in-law.”
She stopped short, and then burst out in a tone of intense surprise:
“Good gracious! there’s Madame Levasseur’s husband speaking to that
man. I thought Juliette had sworn never to have them here together.”
Hélène’s glances slowly travelled round the room. Even amongst such
seemingly estimable and honest people as these could there be women of
irregular conduct? With her provincial austerity she was astounded at
the manner in which wrongdoing was winked at in Paris. She railed at
herself for her own painful repugnance when Juliette had shaken hands
with her. Madame Deberle had now seemingly become reconciled with
Malignon; she had curled up her little plump figure in an easy-chair,
where she sat listening gleefully to his jests. Monsieur Deberle
happened to pass them.
“You’re surely not quarrelling to-night?” asked he.
“No,” replied Juliette, with a burst of merriment. “He’s talking too
much silly nonsense. If you had heard all the nonsense he’s been
saying!”
There now came some more singing, but silence was obtained with greater
difficulty. The aria selected was a duet from _La Favorita_, sung by
young Monsieur Tissot and a lady of ripened charms, whose hair was
dressed in childish style. Pauline, standing at one of the doors,
amidst a crowd of black coats, gazed at the male singer with a look of
undisguised admiration, as though she were examining a work of art.
“What a handsome fellow!” escaped from her lips, just as the
accompaniment subsided into a softer key, and so loud was her voice
that the whole drawing-room heard the remark.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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