"Pray don't disturb yourselves, my friends," said she. "Your servant wanted to show me into the drawing-room, but I insisted on coming in here, because it is rather a pressing matter. I have come to fetch your charming little Reine to take her to a _matinée_ at the Circus." A fresh explosion of delight ensued. The child remained speechless with joy, whilst the mother exulted and rattled on: "Oh! Madame la Baronne, you are really too kind! You are spoiling the child. But the fact is that she isn't dressed, and you will have to wait a moment. Come, child, make haste, I will help you--ten minutes, you understand--I won't keep you waiting a moment longer." Séraphine remained alone with the two men. She had made a gesture of surprise on perceiving Mathieu, whose hand, like an old friend, she now shook. "And you, are you quite well?" she asked. "Quite well," he answered; and as she sat down near him he instinctively pushed his chair back. He did not seem at all pleased at having met her. He had been on familiar terms with her during his earlier days at the Beauchêne works. She was a frantic pleasure-lover, and destitute of both conscience and moral principles. Her conduct had given rise to scandal even before her extraordinary elopement with Baron de Lowicz, that needy adventurer with a face like an archangel's and the soul of a swindler. The result of the union was a stillborn child. Then Séraphine, who was extremely egotistical and avaricious, quarrelled with her husband and drove him away. He repaired to Berlin, and was killed there in a brawl at a gambling den. Delighted at being rid of him, Séraphine made every use of her liberty as a young widow. She figured at every _fête_, took part in every kind of amusement, and many scandalous stories were told of her; but she contrived to keep up appearances and was thus still received everywhere. "You are living in the country, are you not?" she asked again, turning towards Mathieu. "Yes, we have been there for three weeks past." "Constance told me of it. I met her the other day at Madame Séguin's. We are on the best terms possible, you know, now that I give my brother good advice." In point of fact her sister-in-law, Constance, hated her, but with her usual boldness she treated the matter as a joke. "We talked about Dr. Gaude," she resumed; "I fancied that she wanted to ask for his address; but she did not dare." "Dr. Gaude!" interrupted Morange. "Ah! yes, a friend of my wife's spoke to her about him. He's a wonderfully clever man, it appears. Some of his operations are like miracles."