Madame S---------, who, since she had learned that there was no cause to apprehend that Isaura might become her professional rival, conceived for her a wonderful affection, and willingly contributed her magnificent gifts of song to the charms of Isaura's salon, now began a fragment from _I Puritani_, which held the audience as silent as the ghosts listening to Sappho, and when it was over, several of the guests slipped away, especially those who disliked music, and feared Madame S--------- might begin again. Enguerrand was not one of such soulless recreants, but he had many other places to go to. Besides, Madame S-------- was no novelty to him. De Mauleon now approached Isaura, who was seated next to Valerie, and after well-merited encomium on Madame S------'s performance, slid into some critical comparisons between that singer and those of a former generation, which interested Isaura, and evinced to her quick perceptions that kind of love for music which has been refined by more knowledge of the art than is common to mere amateurs. "You have studied music, Monsieur de Mauleon," she said. "Do you not perform yourself?" "I? No. But music has always had a fatal attraction for me. I ascribe half the errors of my life to that temperament which makes me too fascinated by harmonies--too revolted by discords." "I should have thought such a temperament would have led from errors--are not errors discords?" "To the inner sense, yes; but to the outer sense not always. Virtues are often harsh to the ear--errors very sweet-voiced. The sirens did not sing out of tune. Better to stop one's ears than glide on Scylla or be merged into Charybdis." "Monsieur," cried Valerie, with a pretty _brusquerie_ which became her well, "you talk like a Vandal." "It is, I think, by Mademoiselle Duplessis that I have the honour to be rebuked. Is Monsieur your father very susceptible to music?" "Well, I cannot say that he cares much for it. But then his mind is so practical--" "And his life so successful. No Scylla, no Charybdis for him. However, Mademoiselle, I am not quite the Vandal you suppose, I do not say that susceptibility to the influence of music may not be safe, nay, healthful, to others it was not so to me in my youth. It can do me no harm now." Here Duplessis came up and whispered his daughter "it was time to leave; they had promised the Duchesse de Tarascon to assist at the soiree she gave that night." Valerie took her father's arm with a brightening smile and a heightened colour. Alain de Rochebriant might probably be at the Duchesse's. "Are you not going also to the Hotel de Tarascon, M. de Mauleon?" asked Duplessis. "No; I was never there but once. The Duchesse is an Imperialist, at once devoted and acute, and no doubt very soon divined my lack of faith in her idols." Duplessis frowned, and hastily led Valerie away.