"Very well, messieurs," said Fanny; "the next time, we'll have a bezique table for those who like it.--How is it with you, Auguste; do you play it?" "I? What? what game is that?" replied Monleard, who had not listened to the conversation. "Bezique." "No. Oh! yes, I played it yesterday." "My son-in-law is distraught this evening." They talked a few moments more, then all the guests took leave of the young husband and wife. But, as she went away, Adolphine could not resist the desire to say to her sister, in an undertone: "Do be more affectionate with your husband. He is unhappy, I assure you." "And I assure you," rejoined Fanny, "that that's none of my affair; as if a woman must be forever worrying about her husband's looks! That would not be a very entertaining occupation!" XXI A MAIDEN'S REVERIES More than a fortnight had elapsed since the Monleard's whist party, at which Adolphine had sung several romanzas. But her sweet voice had made a deep impression upon the Comte de la Beriniere, also upon young Anatole de Raincy; it had even caused a quickening of the heart-beats of Monsieur Batonnin, the gentleman who played whist so poorly, but who was said to have a much clearer comprehension of business, which, indeed, was his profession, for he held himself out as a business agent. Adolphine was alone in a small salon, much less sumptuous than her sister's, but very comfortable none the less. I need not say that there was a piano in it: that has become an indispensable article of furniture; we see them even in the domiciles of concierges who have daughters at the Conservatoire. Adolphine held a book in her hand, but she was not reading it; she was musing, and her face still wore a sad expression. Upon what subject can a maiden of eighteen muse? Everybody will conclude that her heart was engrossed by a tender sentiment. And yet, no man had ever paid court to Adolphine, no one had ever observed any youthful exquisite paying assiduous attention to her. But all love affairs do not begin in the same way; they do not all follow the beaten paths; there are secret, unavowed sentiments which those who inspire them are very far from suspecting; and when it is a virtuous maiden's heart in which one of those profound attachments takes root, she suffers all the more because of the pains she takes to conceal it. Adolphine passed her hand across her brow, as if to brush away the thoughts that made her sad; she took up her book again, and for a few minutes tried to read; then placed it beside her, saying to herself: