Monfréville, who had taken his place at a card table, was not at hand to console his friend, and Chérubin had been sitting by himself for quite a long time, when a hand was laid gently on his shoulder, and a penetrating voice said, almost in his ear: “What are you doing here? sulking? Madame de Valdieri doesn’t seem to treat you very well this evening.” “Ah! is it you, madame?” “Haven’t I guessed right, that you are at odds with the countess?” “Oh! I assure you that you are mistaken; I am not sufficiently intimate with that lady to----” “You are discreet--that is right, and it will be a recommendation with the ladies.” “Well, well!” thought Chérubin, “they all seem to be agreed on that point; Madame Célival says almost the same thing that the countess said.” The lovely widow seated herself for a moment by Chérubin’s side, and said in a very low tone: “You must have done something very bad, to be treated so--to be looked at like that?” “I, madame? Why, I give you my word that I have done nothing at all.” “Bless me! how innocently he answers! One would take him for a little saint.” “Well, she asked me if your boudoir was prettier than--than hers. I told her that I knew nothing about it, and she told me that I lied; but you know that I told the truth.” “Ah! so she asked you if my boudoir was prettier, did she?” said Madame Célival in an irritated tone. “You admit then that you go to her boudoir? Ah! that little countess! But, on my word, I consider it very inquisitive of her to ask you if you had seen mine!--And you said no?” “Why, I don’t see how I could have said yes, madame; that would have been a lie.” “Great heaven! what an astonishing creature you are with your scruples! As if people never lied in society! Why, you must know that one is driven to it sometimes, that it is absolutely necessary. However, I propose that you shall make the acquaintance of my boudoir, so that you can answer that lady when she questions you again.--Come to breakfast with me to-morrow.” “Oh! how kind you are, madame!” “Will you come? will you be allowed?” “Will I be allowed! Am I not my own master, pray?” “Perhaps.--I shall expect you then to-morrow, at twelve o’clock; and we will breakfast in my boudoir; so that you may have plenty of time to make its acquaintance, and to tell madame la comtesse what you think of it.” “Oh! I am willing to bet in advance that it is prettier than hers, and not so dark.” Madame Célival smiled, placed her hand softly in Chérubin’s, and walked away, murmuring almost inaudibly: “Until to-morrow!” Chérubin, enchanted with his new assignation, incontinently forgot Madame de Valdieri’s disdain; he recovered his spirits and his assurance, sought out Monfréville, who was at the card-table, and whispered: “I have another, my friend.” “Another what?” “Why, another appointment, in a boudoir, for to-morrow.” “With the same person?” “No, with Madame Célival.”