“I want to pass the evening with you to-morrow; surely you will sacrifice your great ladies to me for one evening! You are always in the fashionable salons now--they monopolize you. Monfréville is never away from you; but my friendship demands its turn, and as I do not go into society--for the moment! I have such seasons--why, we will go to the theatre.” Chérubin had agreed. But he was beginning to enjoy large parties; the pleasant welcome that he received everywhere gradually dispelled his shyness. Madame Célival was more amiable with him than with any other man; which fact seemed to annoy several gentlemen, among others, the colonel who resembled a cat, and the young dandy who had the look of a Roman. Nor was this all: the fascinating Comtesse Valdieri, that fanciful, nervous, ethereal creature, who often received as if by special favor the homage that was addressed to her, had supposed at first that Marquis Chérubin would speedily help to swell the crowd of her adorers; but the young man had contented himself with admiring her at a distance, and in this case his shyness had served him well. The little countess was deeply offended by behavior which she attributed to indifference; for in these days it is not to be presumed that young men are bashful, and Madame Valdieri, seeing that Chérubin talked a great deal with Madame Célival, did her utmost to steal that new conquest from her. With women anger sometimes leads to love, and any other than Chérubin would already have taken advantage of the rivalry he had caused. The pretty countess had invited the young marquis to come to her receptions. Monsieur Valdieri, like a complacent husband, had seconded his wife’s invitation; and Chérubin waited upon the flighty Emma, who was most affable to him and seemed to forget her nerves. And then, in a street near the hôtel de Grandvilain, there was a rather pretentious linen-draper’s shop, and in that shop, among a number of young women who were always at work at the counter, there was one fair-haired damsel, somewhat red about the eyes, with a little turned-up nose _à la Roxelane_, and an extremely wide-awake air. When Chérubin passed, she always found a way to be at the door and smile at him; or to go out into the street for a moment on the most trivial pretext; and several times, as she passed the young man, she had said: “I come out at nine o’clock every night; if you would like to speak with me, wait at the end of the street; my name is Célanire.” And lastly Chérubin had met Mademoiselle Malvina several times, no longer dressed as a Swiss, but very alluring with her little pink tucker, her short skirt, and the black silk scarf, which was wound so lightly about her waist that it caused her hips to stand out in a very pronounced fashion. And Malvina had halted in front of the young man, shot a burning glance at him, and said: