“The same with me,” said Bernard in such a tone that Passavant’s amenity froze. He at once turned to Edouard. Though often abroad travelling, and keeping, even when he was in Paris, a great deal to himself, Edouard was nevertheless acquainted with several of the guests and feeling perfectly at his ease. Little liked, but at the same time esteemed, by his _confrères_, he did not object to being thought proud, when, in reality, he was only distant. He was more willing to listen than to speak. “From what your nephew said, I was hoping you would come to-night,” began Passavant in a gentle voice that was almost a whisper. “I was delighted because....” Edouard’s ironical look cut short the rest of his sentence. Skilful in the arts of pleasing and accustomed to please, Passavant, in order to shine, had need to feel himself confronted by a flattering mirror. He collected himself, however, for he was not the man to lose his self-possession for long or to let himself be easily snubbed. He raised his head, and his eyes were charged with insolence. If Edouard would not follow his lead with a good grace, he would find means to worst him. “I was wanting to ask you ...” he went on, as if he were continuing his first remark, “whether you had any news of your other nephew, Vincent? It was he who was my special friend.” “No,” said Edouard dryly. This “no” upset Passavant once more; he did not know whether to take it as a provocative contradiction, or as a simple answer to his question. His disturbance lasted only a second; it was Edouard who unintentionally restored him to his balance by adding almost at once: “I have merely heard from his father that he was travelling with the Prince of Monaco.” “Yes, I asked a lady, who is a friend of mine, to introduce him to the Prince. I was glad to hit upon this diversion to distract him a little from his unlucky affair with that Madame Douviers.... You know her, so Olivier told me. He was in danger of wrecking his whole life over it.” Passavant handled disdain, contempt, condescension with marvellous skill; but he was satisfied with having won this bout and with keeping Edouard at sword’s length. Edouard indeed was racking his brains for some cutting answer. He was singularly lacking in presence of mind. That was no doubt the reason he cared so little for society--he had none of the qualities which are necessary to shine in it. His eyebrows however began to look frowningly. Passavant was quick to notice; when anything disagreeable was coming to him, he sniffed it in the air, and veered about. Without even stopping to take breath, and with a sudden change of tone: “But who is that delightful girl who is with you?” he asked smiling. “It is Mademoiselle Sarah Vedel, the sister of the very lady you were mentioning--my friend Madame Douviers.” In default of any better repartee, he sharpened the words “my friend” like an arrow--but an arrow which fell short, and Passavant, letting it lie, went on: