“Oh, Madame, in the polite world one does not die of laughter! One hardly laughs, even. We have sufficient amiability, as a matter of good taste, to pretend to be amused and appear to laugh. The grimace is imitated well enough, but the real thing is never done. Go to the theaters of the common people--there you will see laughter. Go among the _bourgeoisie_, when they are amusing themselves; you will see them laugh to suffocation. Go to the soldiers' quarters, you will see men choking, their eyes full of tears, doubled up on their beds over the jokes of some funny fellow. But in our drawing-rooms we never laugh. I tell you that we simulate everything, even laughter.” Musadieu interrupted him: “Permit me to say that you are very severe. It seems to me that you yourself, my dear fellow, do not wholly despise this society at which you rail so bitterly.” Bertin smiled. “I? I love it!” he declared. “But then----” “I despise myself a little, as a mongrel of doubtful race.” “All that sort of talk is nothing but a pose,” said the Duchess. And, as he denied having any intention of posing, she cut short the discussion by declaring that all artists try to make people believe that chalk is cheese. The conversation then became general, touching upon everything, ordinary and pleasant, friendly and critical, and, as the dinner was drawing toward its end, the Countess suddenly exclaimed, pointing to the full glasses of wine that were ranged before her plate: “Well, you see that I have drunk nothing, nothing, not a drop! We shall see whether I shall not grow thin!” The Duchess, furious, tried to make her swallow some mineral water, but in vain; then she exclaimed: “Oh, the little simpleton! That daughter of hers will turn her head. I beg of you, Guilleroy, prevent your wife from committing this folly.” The Count, who was explaining to Musadieu the system of a threshing-machine invented in America, had not been listening. “What folly, Duchess?” “The folly of wishing to grow thin.” The Count looked at his wife with an expression of kindly indifference. “I never have formed the habit of opposing her,” he replied. The Countess had risen, taking the arm of her neighbor; the Count offered his to the Duchess, and they passed into the large drawing-room, the boudoir at the end being reserved for use in the daytime.