The Camusot de Marvilles had given out that the guest of the evening was one of the richest capitalists in Germany, a man of taste (he was in love with “the little girl”), a future rival of the Nucingens, Kellers, du Tillets, and their like. “It is our day,” said the Presidente with elaborate simplicity, when she had named her guests one by one for the German whom she already regarded as her son-in-law. “We have only a few intimate friends--first, my husband’s father, who, as you know, is sure to be raised to the peerage; M. le Comte and Mme. la Comtesse Popinot, whose son was not thought rich enough for Cecile; the Home Secretary; our First President; our attorney for the crown; our personal friends, in short.--We shall be obliged to dine rather late to-night, because the Chamber is sitting, and people cannot get away before six.” Brunner looked significantly at Pons, and Pons rubbed his hands as if to say, “Our friends, you see! _My_ friends!” Mme. de Marville, as a clever tactician, had something very particular to say to her cousin, that Cecile and her Werther might be left together for a moment. Cecile chattered away volubly, and contrived that Frederic should catch sight of a German dictionary, a German grammar, and a volume of Goethe hidden away in a place where he was likely to find them. “Ah! are you learning German?” asked Brunner, flushing red. (For laying traps of this kind the Frenchwoman has not her match!) “Oh! how naughty you are!” she cried; “it is too bad of you, monsieur, to explore my hiding-places like this. I want to read Goethe in the original,” she added; “I have been learning German for two years.” “Then the grammar must be very difficult to learn, for scarcely ten pages have been cut--” Brunner remarked with much candor. Cecile, abashed, turned away to hide her blushes. A German cannot resist a display of this kind; Brunner caught Cecile’s hand, made her turn, and watched her confusion under his gaze, after the manner of the heroes of the novels of Auguste Lafontaine of chaste memory. “You are adorable,” said he. Cecile’s petulant gesture replied, “So are you--who could help liking you?” “It is all right, mamma,” she whispered to her parent, who came up at that moment with Pons.