Then suddenly I raised my eyes and let them fall full upon the group of young men. But I had to drop them more quickly than I had raised them, for all the four young men were studying me with an equal amount of curiosity and evident approbation. I let the sonata go a little longer, and again renewed the experiment--with the same result. The four pairs of eyes were fixed unflinchingly upon me. I don't think I was much put out by so much attention. In fact, I wasn't at all put out. It was pleasant, very pleasant; and I rather liked it than otherwise. The country did wonders for me last summer. I have grown a little--ever so little--fatter. Virginie, my maid, said to me the other evening while dressing me: "Ah! Mademoiselle, you don't know how the summer has improved you." In which Virginie was very much mistaken. Mademoiselle _did_ know it very well. One always notices such things first one's self. The quartet at last came to an end, and the usual confusion of tongues followed. I took mama aside and said: "Mama, do point him out." "Why, you little minx, have you guessed?" "Yes, I've guessed. Show me him--quick--the music's going to start again." "That's he--the tall dark man, on the left there--the man standing under the Meissonnier. Don't look just now. He's looking at you." "He's not the only one. They're all doing that." "He's not looking now, though. There he is. He's going to papa. He's talking to him." "He's not bad looking." "I should rather think he isn't!" "But his mouth's too large." "_I_ don't think so." "Oh, yes it is. But that's a trifle. On the whole, he'll do." "Oh, if you only knew all--birth, fortune, everything you could wish for. It was such an extraordinary accident, too--quite romantic." "What's his name?" "Comte de Martelle-Simieuse. Don't look at him; he's beginning to look at you again. As I was saying, he is a Martelle-Simieuse, and the Martelle-Simieuses are cousins of the Landry-Simieuses and of the Martelle-Jonzacs. You know the Martelle-Simieuses?" At this point one of the musicians tapped on his desk, and mama's flow of genealogical eloquence was stopped. We resumed our seats, and the music commenced. Mozart this time. I sank back into my corner and settled down to my reflections. It was evident to me that he must be a splendid catch, for mama was so excited. Comtesse de Martelle-Simieuse. Two names. Just what I had dreamt of and longed for. Of course, I should have preferred to be a duchess; but then there are so few real dukes left--only twenty-two, I believe--so that is practically out of the question. But a countess is passable.