“Cognin news,” said Isabelle ironically. “It will interest the whole of France!” “At the news I bring you Your lovely eyes will weep,” Clément hummed to the air of “Malbrough.” “Ha, ha!” laughed everybody. “You may laugh, Madame, but my news _will_ interest the whole of France.” “Then tell us what it is,” cried several voices at once. Every eye was on the young man. He enjoyed the momentary superiority which his possession of news gave him. Holding the whole table at his mercy he had succeeded in gaining his ends. They were now serving truffled galantine “_des gourmets_” as it was called, the glory of a Toulouse specialist. In front of each guest costly orchids of various hues blossomed in a tall Murano vase. It was Alice’s idea to have this decoration, which she had read of in a society paper. “Well?” said Madame Dulaurens, speaking in the name of all. Clément could contain himself no longer. He had had time enough to appreciate his own tactlessness, but with the utmost coolness he said: “Well, Commander Guibert is dead!” This news, dropped like a bombshell in the middle of a gay dinner-party, all but perfect in its arrangements, amid the warmth, the lights, the charming flowers, the dazzling jewels, the lovely dresses, and the general cheerfulness, seemed almost an impropriety. It would be only the unmannerly Clément, coarsened by sport, who could be guilty of such a blunder. Why, the very introduction of the subject of death seemed to imply that the pleasures of the evening were not everlasting; and does not the whole art of enjoying the present consist in supposing it will last forever? And then if it had only been the death of some unknown person, they could have passed it over! But Commander Guibert could not be so quickly disposed of; the common knowledge of his origin, his personality, and his brilliant career prevented his name from dropping out of the conversation. Stupefaction reigned at the table. Isabelle was the first to speak, and it was to cast doubts on the truth of the story. “But it is not possible! Last year we might have believed you. He was taking part in the Moureau Expedition to Africa. He was travelling in unknown and dangerous countries. But he came back safe and sound, and famous as well. Now he is commander and an officer of the Legion of Honour at thirty-two. He is our great man. You are all jealous of him, so you think you will just get rid of him.” She spoke with animation, turning from right to left in her chair, as if inviting all the guests to witness her anger. On Clément’s unhappy remark she had looked at Alice and saw the blood leave her cheeks as though she were dying. This mortal pallor extended even to her hands, which shook nervously, hardly distinguishable from the white cloth. Isabelle had immediately turned the attention on herself with her hasty words. Clément made a slight gesture.