Frédéric had a fine figure, and a most attractive face, dignified and sweet; his eyes expressed all that his heart felt. But he had not yet acquired the careless tone and the free and easy manners of the dandies of the day; he did not sway back and forth as he talked, he did not smile into mirrors, he did not deal in the airy nothings which are so popular in salons, and had not the art of looking a woman in the eye to tell her that she was adorable. And as such cavalierish manners are fashionable, and as the ladies care for nothing except what is consecrated by the goddess of fashion, they considered Frédéric rather sentimental, awkward even, and said to one another: "He's not very bad, but he needs to be trained." A _petite-maîtresse_ can hardly attach herself to a novice; she may indulge a fancy for him, but only a reprobate can inspire a _grande passion_; that is why poor Frédéric was constantly deceived and thrown over by his mistresses. It was at Tortoni's that he had made the acquaintance of Dubourg. On that day, the philosopher, being in funds, had created an uproar at that café, where he was entertaining four of his friends. Several strangers, annoyed by the noise they made, tried to impose silence on them; Dubourg's only reply was to throw the remains of a bowl of punch at their heads. They sprang to their feet, shouting and threatening, and during the quarrel Dubourg's four friends deemed it prudent to disappear in rapid succession. He, enraged by their cowardly conduct in abandoning him, was still holding out against his adversaries, when Frédéric espoused his quarrel and offered to act as his second. Dubourg accepted, and a duel took place the next day. Dubourg's antagonist was slightly wounded, and the affair had no more serious results; but it served to cement the friendship thus formed between Dubourg and Frédéric. The former, although nearly ten years the young count's senior, was far from being as reasonable as he; but his unfailing gayety pleased Frédéric, who often felt the need of his friend's merriment to help him to forget the infidelities of his charmers. Now that we know the Comte de Montreville and his son, let us enter the salons, where the most brilliant society of the capital was assembled, because, as Dubourg had said, it was the count's reception day. The company was scattered through several rooms, all resplendent with the light of innumerable candles; here there was dancing, there card-playing; elsewhere, the guests were chatting, or strolling about, or standing where they could get a breath of air; the heat was intense in the cardroom, where it was almost impossible to force one's way through the crowd of bettors.