The young man was a quick writer; the fifteen lines were done in the twinkling of an eye. They brought seven francs fifty to the reporter, but cost M. Derline a little more than that. During this time Prince Agenor, seated in the club at the whist-table, was saying, while shuffling the cards: "This evening at the opera there was a marvellous woman, a certain Mme. Derline. She is the most beautiful woman in Paris!" The following morning, in the gossip-corner of the Bois, in the spring sunshine, the prince, surrounded by a little group of respectful disciples, was solemnly delivering from the back of his roan mare the following opinion: "Listen well to what I say. The most beautiful woman in Paris is a certain Mme. Derline. This star will be visible Thursday evening at the Palmer's. Go, and don't forget the name--Mme. Derline." The disciples dispersed, and went abroad spreading the great news. Mme. Derline had been admirably brought up by an irreproachable mother; she had been taught that she ought to get up in the morning, keep a strict account of her expenses, not go to a great dress-maker, believe in God, love her husband, visit the poor, and never spend but half her income in order to prepare dowries for her daughters. Mme. Derline performed all these duties. She led a peaceful and serene life in the old house (in the Rue Dragon) which had sheltered, since 1825, three generations of Derlines; the husbands had all three been lawyers, the wives had all three been virtuous. The three generations had passed there a happy and moderate life, never having any great pleasures, but, also, never being very bored. The next day at eight o'clock in the morning Mme. Derline awoke with an uneasy feeling. She had passed a troubled night--she, who usually slept like a child. The evening before at the opera, in the box, Mme. Derline had vaguely felt that something was going on around her. And during the entire last act an opera-glass, obstinately fixed on her--the prince's opera-glass--had thrown her into a certain agitation, not disagreeable, however. She wore a low dress--too much so, in her mother's opinion--and two or three times, under the fixity of that opera-glass, she had raised the shoulder-straps of her dress. So, after opening her eyes, Mme. Derline reclosed them lazily, indolently, with thoughts floating between dreamland and reality. She again saw the opera-house, and a hundred, two hundred, five hundred opera-glasses obstinately fixed on her--on her alone.