“What a stupid idiot you are!” cried the tall lady, with a savage glance at Louise. “If you don’t know how to pass a plate, you should stay in your kitchen.” Louise stood like a statue, confused and distressed. The men, thinking her prettier than ever, tried to excuse her; Ernestine rose hastily and wiped the lady’s dress, which it did not even occur to Louise to do. As for Madame de Noirmont, when she heard Louise called stupid and an idiot, her eyebrows contracted and her eyes shot fire for an instant; she half rose, then fell back in her chair, as if she were dead. Monsieur Trichet, who was beside her, exclaimed: “Madame de Noirmont is certainly ill.--Do you feel ill, madame?” “It is nothing, I hope,” said Madame de Noirmont, rising; “just an ill turn; I will go and take a breath of air.” Ernestine was already beside her mother; she supported her, gave her her arm, and they left the dining-room together. This episode caused Louise’s awkwardness to be forgotten, although the tall lady continued to grumble about her dress; but nobody seemed to listen to her. After ten minutes Madame de Noirmont returned to the table. She was still very pale, but she insisted that she no longer suffered. The dinner came to an end dismally enough; the accident that had happened to the mistress of the house had dispelled all merriment. They returned to the salon. The men conversed among themselves, and the tall lady thought of nothing but her damaged gown. Madame de Noirmont forced herself to smile as she listened to Monsieur Trichet; Ernestine kept her eyes on her mother, and the young men looked frequently toward the door, disappointed that the pretty lady’s maid did not appear again. A game of whist was organized, but it was not kept up very long, and the guests took their leave well before midnight, because Madame de Noirmont was ill and must need rest. It was two hours after midnight. All the members of Monsieur de Noirmont’s household had long since withdrawn to their apartments, and should have been buried in slumber. Louise, still excited by the emotions of the day, had just closed her eyes, thinking of Chérubin, who was said to have been in love with two women. Suddenly someone opened the door of her room, and entered cautiously, holding a light. Louise opened her eyes and recognized Madame de Noirmont, in her night dress, as pale as she had been at dinner; she walked to the bed after pausing to listen and make sure that no one was following her. “Mon Dieu! is it you, madame?” cried Louise; “can it be that you are ill? that you need my services?--I will get up at once.” “Stay where you are, and listen to me.” As she spoke, Madame de Noirmont went to the door and closed it, then returned to the bed, sat down beside it, took Louise’s hand and pressed it in both of hers, saying in a broken voice: