Madame--(inattentively)--But, my dear, how can you expect a fire to be in the drawing-room? Monsieur--I will go to my study, then. Madame--There is none there, either. What do you want a fire in your study for? What a singular idea! High up, you know, Silvani, and a dash of disorder, it is all the rage. Silvani--Would you allow a touch of brown under the eyes? That would enable me to idealize the coiffure. Monsieur--(impatiently)--Marie, give me my top-coat and my cap. I will walk up and down in the anteroom. (Aside.) Madame de Lyr shall pay for this. Silvani--(crimping)--I leave your ear uncovered, Madame; it would be a sin to veil it. It is like that of the Princesse de K., whose hair I dressed yesterday. Lisette, get the powder ready. Ears like yours, Madame, are not numerous. Madame--You were saying-- Silvani--Would your ear, Madame, be so modest as not to listen? Madame’s hair is at length dressed. Silvani sheds a light cloud of scented powder over his work, on which he casts a lingering look of satisfaction, then bows and retires. In passing through the anteroom, he runs against Monsieur, who is walking up and down. Silvani--A thousand pardons, I have the honor to wish you good night. Monsieur--(from the depths of his turned-up collar) Good-night. A quarter of an hour later the sound of a carriage is heard. Madame is ready, her coiffure suits her, she smiles at herself in the glass as she slips the glove-stretchers into the twelve-button gloves. Monsieur has made a failure of his necktie and broken off three buttons. Traces of decided ill-humor are stamped on his features. Monsieur--Come, let us go down, the carriage is waiting; it is a quarter past eleven. (Aside.) Another sleepless night. Sharp, coachman; Rue de la Pepiniere, number 224. They reach the street in question. The Rue de la Pepiniere is in a tumult. Policemen are hurriedly making way through the crowd. In the distance, confused cries and a rapidly approaching, rumbling sound are heard. Monsieur thrusts his head out of the window. Monsieur--What is it, Jean? Coachman--A fire, Monsieur; here come the firemen. Monsieur--Go on all the same to number 224. Coachman--We are there, Monsieur; the fire is at number 224. Doorkeeper of the House--(quitting a group of people and approaching the carriage)--You are, I presume, Monsieur, one of the guests of Madame de Lyr? She is terror-stricken; the fire is in her rooms. She can not receive any one. Madame--(excitedly)--It is scandalous. Monsieur--(humming)--Heart-breaking, heartbreaking! (To the coachman.) Home again, quickly; I am all but asleep. (He stretches himself out and turns up his collar.) ( Aside.) After all, I am the better for a well-cooked partridge. CHAPTER XVI. A FALSE ALARM