In a vast antechamber, where there were some fine paintings and magnificent Faïence vases also filled with flowers, was another footman, whose livery was orange colour with a blue collar, and braided on all the seams with silk passementerie, and embroidered with the crest of De Pënâfiel. Finally, in a third waiting-room, were two _valets de chambre_ who, instead of being clothed in funereal black, wore suits of light blue plush, lined with orange-coloured silk and ornamented with crested gilt buttons. When I was announced, there were with Madame de Pënâfiel five or six ladies and two or three men. She was dressed in black on account of some court mourning or other, and had jet ornaments in her soft brown hair. I thought her dazzlingly beautiful and, though I may be mistaken, that she blushed beneath her rouge when she received me in her most formal and ceremonious manner. Perhaps it was the blush that made me think her so beautiful. After I had spoken a few polite words, the conversation which my arrival had interrupted was continued. They were discussing the latest scandal, in which a woman's honour and two men's lives were at stake; the story was told in the most guarded language, but with so feeble an attempt at disguise, and such transparent withholding of details, that to have mentioned proper names outright would have been less significant. As it almost always happens by one of those coincidences that luck brings about, just as every one was having his little word or sharp little witticism on the subject, the husband and wife who were being discussed were announced. This conjugal entrance astonished no one. It was explained by an unexpected return to Paris, which necessitated a first visit. Though every one who was in the salon was quite used to such impromptus, there was for a second an embarrassing silence, but Madame de Pënâfiel, with the most natural and perfect ease, addressed me as though we were continuing an interrupted conversation: "You think then, monsieur, that this new maëstro's opera shows great promise?" "It shows that he possesses a talent of unquestionable charm and melancholy, madame," I replied, quite naturally. "Perhaps the music is wanting in vigour, but it is full of sweetness and inexpressible grace." "And pray who is the new musical luminary?" said, in an impertinent way, the young woman who had just entered the room, and who had been the subject of the previous discussion. "M. Bellini, madame," said I, with a bow, wishing to save Madame de Pënâfiel the trouble of answering. "And the title of the new opera, madame la marquise?" asked the husband, with an air of great interest, and unwilling to drop such a subject for conversation.