“Monsieur de Monfréville did ask my permission to introduce a young man who has never been out at all; and I granted it the more willingly because this young man, who is the last of a noble family, deserves, so it is said, all the interest that Monsieur de Monfréville takes in him.” “Ah! very well done!” murmured the gray-haired gentleman; “a little announcement preceding the introduction.” At that moment Chérubin entered the salon with Monfréville. Despite all that his mentor had said to him, he was far from self-possessed, and the deep flush that covered his cheeks sufficiently betrayed his embarrassment. But his eyes were so lovely and soft, his features so refined, his face so interesting, that a flattering murmur greeted his entrance into the salon, and everyone felt prepossessed in his favor at once. The young men who were standing stiffly erect to display their fine points were the only ones who did not seem to share the general feeling. “He has a very awkward manner,” said one. “He carries himself badly,” said another. “He looks like a woman in man’s clothes,” murmured a young dandy, bristling with beard, moustache and side-whiskers. And Monsieur Trichet, the gray-haired gentleman, smiled maliciously and said: “Chérubin! a most appropriate name. He is Comte Almaviva’s little page to the life! He still lacks the gallantry and self-assurance of his namesake; but those will soon come. The ladies will ask nothing better than to train him.” Madame Célival greeted the young man with a charming smile when Monfréville presented him. She made several of those complimentary remarks which captivate instantly the person to whom they are addressed. Chérubin tried to reply to her compliments, but he went astray and tangled himself up in a sentence which he was unable to finish. Luckily Monfréville was at hand and interposed to relieve his embarrassment, and Madame Célival was too well-bred not to do her best to put him at his ease. So that, after a few moments, Chérubin began to venture to look about him. “What a lot of pretty women there are here!” he whispered to his sponsor. “I say, my friend, do you mean to say that one can love them all?” “You are perfectly at liberty to love them all, but I cannot promise that they will all love you.” “The mistress of the house is very beautiful; she has eyes that--I don’t dare to say it.” “Say on.” “That dazzle one, intoxicate one--excuse me, but I can’t think of the right word.” “Intoxicate isn’t at all bad; in fact, you have unwittingly hit upon the most apt expression; for if wine deprives us of our reason, a pretty woman’s eyes produce precisely the same effect. I am tempted to tell Madame Célival what you just said about her eyes; she will be flattered by it, I’ll wager.” “Oh! my dear fellow, don’t do that--I shouldn’t dare to look at her again. But the lady opposite is very pretty too! That blonde almost hidden by pink and white muslin.”