The general was jovial, outspoken, and unaffected, as usual; his niece was as pretty and affable and modest as ever. In a large party, it is easier to arrange a tête-à-tête than when the guests are few in number, and Frédéric returned again and again to Constance's side. He fancied that he did so from courtesy simply, because it was his duty to pay especial attention to the general's niece; but he could not blind himself to the fact that, of all the assembled company, Constance was the one who attracted him the most, if it were possible for anyone to attract him. He could talk with her without having to think what he was going to say. The words that fell from her mouth were not mere trite phrases and tasteless epigrams; Constance did not devote her attention exclusively to other women's costumes; she did not pass them in review and criticise them one after another, as a young woman is very likely to do. With her, he felt more free, more at his ease; it seemed to him that he had known her a long while. She smiled at him so pleasantly when he seated himself beside her, her voice was so tender, her eyes so sweet, that it was natural that he should prefer her conversation to that of all the rest; even when he was not talking with her, he was conscious of a secret charm in her presence. Although he strove to overcome his sadness, his face still wore a melancholy expression, which was not unbecoming to him; and women often yield to the seduction of such expressions. When he was pensive, Constance looked at him with deep interest, her eyes seemed to ask him if he was unhappy. And when she spoke to him, her voice was even softer, her manner more sympathetic; one would have said that she unconsciously shared his sorrow, or that she was trying to make him forget it.