“You are taking useless trouble, mademoiselle.” “We will see about that, monsieur.” She paid no heed to me and left us. But I was not alarmed; Eugénie certainly would not accept. Monsieur Roquencourt came up to me and, pointing to his waistcoat, which was made of white silk, with colored flowers, and cut after the style of Louis XV, said to me: “What do you think of this waistcoat?” “It is very original.” “I wore it in the part of Monsieur de Crac.” “I can well imagine that it must be very effective on the stage.” “All the ladies raved over it; but I played Monsieur de Crac very nicely too. In the first place, I talk Gascon as well as if I were a native of Toulouse, and Dugazon gave me a few lessons for that part. My first lines were admirable: “‘Enfants, pétits laquais qué jé né logé pas, Jé suis content; allez, je paîrai vos papas. On né mé vit jamais prodigué dé louanges, Mais ils ont rabattu commé des pétits anges.’” Monsieur Roquencourt might have recited the whole play if he pleased, for I was not listening to him; I was awaiting Mademoiselle Derbin’s return most impatiently. At last she appeared, and, as I hoped, alone; there was an expression of something more than annoyance on her face. “Let us go, messieurs,” she said; “Monsieur Dalbreuse predicted that my trouble would be thrown away; Madame Blémont refuses to come with us.” We entered the carriage and began our drive. I was most anxious to know what those ladies had said to each other, but I dared not question Caroline. She saved me the trouble, for she said, gazing earnestly at me: “Monsieur Dalbreuse, do you know Madame Blémont?” “I, know that lady? Why,--no, mademoiselle.” “You act as if you weren’t quite sure.” “I beg your pardon, but why did you ask me that question?” “Because she did nothing but talk about you all the time I was with her; asking me if I had known you long, if we had ever met anywhere before. That struck me as rather strange. When I told her that we intended to return to Paris together, she made a wry face. Ha! ha! it is very amusing.--And you say that you never met her in Paris?” “No, mademoiselle.” “Then you apparently made a conquest of her last night; isn’t that so, uncle?” “My dear girl, what would there be so extraordinary in that? I myself made ten conquests in the part of Figaro. To be sure, my cherry and white costume was very elegant.” “It seems that Monsieur Dalbreuse does not need to be dressed as Figaro in order to fascinate the ladies. I confess that this particular one does not attract me so much as she did. I looked closely at her this morning. Great heaven! such thinness! such pallor! She certainly can never have been very pretty.” I was on the point of contradicting her, but I restrained myself and said nothing.