But let us leave such reflections. Let us enter the Cadran-Bleu, and make the acquaintance of the principal persons at this function, whom, probably, we shall have occasion to see more than once in the course of this narrative, unless it happens that this chapter has no connection with the plot, which is quite possible; we read many chapters of that sort. Edouard Murville was twenty-five years of age; he was of medium stature but well-proportioned; his face was attractive, his voice soft, his manners distinguished. He had all the social talents, played moderately well on the violin, sang with expression, and danced gracefully; his language was well-chosen, he was accustomed to society, and he knew how to enter and leave a salon, which, be it said in passing, is not so easy as one might think. What! I hear my readers say, does this fellow suppose that we do not know how to walk, to enter a room, and to bow gracefully? God forbid that I should express such a judgment upon the nation which dances best! But there are degrees in everything, and it is upon those degrees that I base my judgment. A very clever, but slightly sarcastic woman, beside whom I was sitting not long ago, in the salon of a banker, favored me with some of her observations, which in general are very just. “Come,” she said, “let us examine together the people who come into this salon; I will wager that I can guess their dispositions, their humor, by the way in which they enter.--See that tall lady passing through the crowd, not deigning to notice anybody with even so much as a nod! Now she is sitting down in front of the fireplace, she places her feet upon the screen, and installs herself in the best place, without looking to see whether she is in the way of the people behind her or not. What do you think of that woman?” “That she is very pretentious and desires to display her fine dress.” “That is not all,--add that she is a fool. A clever woman has a thousand ways of attracting attention without assuming ridiculous airs; and when she desires to create a sensation, she goes about it skilfully at least, and does not look with disdain upon people who are dressed in an old-fashioned way, or whose toilet is slightly careless.--But what is that noise in the reception room? Has some virtuoso arrived? Has a sideboard been knocked over? The master of the house is hurrying in that direction, and we shall soon know what the matter is. Ah! I recognize that voice. It is Monsieur J----. Listen; you can easily hear him from here.” “Ah! my dear friend! I am terribly distressed to arrive so late! Upon my honor, I am covered with confusion! I don’t know whether I ought to come in! I am dressed like a thief! I must hide in some corner!” “Well,” said my neighbor to me, “what do you think of this gentleman, who does not want to be seen, and who so declares in such a loud voice that he makes everybody in the salon turn his head?--Ah! he has made up his mind to come in, nevertheless.”