These stereotyped phrases, expected of her as the hostess, were spoken at random; as a matter of fact, Raymonde had never looked so delicate and pale. In fear and trembling she looked about the room. Pierre Ducal was there. After an absence of several months, he had come back; his old interests had reasserted themselves. At first he had been missed, but his return did not cause much of a stir. How many attempts one makes, how many backward steps one takes, before one can give up society! It seems we are the slaves of habits from which we cannot break ourselves. We often prefer them to the ideals of our better nature, ideals that might lead us to undreamed heights. It took a long time and very deep suffering for me to realise the nothingness of social life. We could not avoid Ducal. Mme. de Saunois had been speaking to him, and when she came to greet some new arrivals we were brought face to face. He bowed respectfully to my wife, without saying a word, while she, conquering her feelings, extended her hand to him. That action on her part was an expression of her tenderness for me and of her complete self-immolation, and yet, at the same time, it affected me disagreeably, because it caused me to admire her magnanimity when I knew that I myself was still disloyal. I greeted my old friend cordially, but he only bowed to me. I was for a moment jealous of the forgiveness he had received. Would he not thus recover his wounded pride if, as every indication led me to believe, he had loved and still loved her? But this feeling gave way to one of interest as I saw Mme. de H-- enter the room with a train of admirers. She stopped short a few steps from us and continued her conversation in a loud tone of voice. Nothing could have been more vulgar than that apparently accidental but carefully planned halt. She was possibly the only person in the room who was talking, for all other conversations ceased, as people observed the direction she was taking. No doubt an interesting scene was expected, of which no one wanted to lose the slightest detail. My private life was not a secret, in a world where every one knows every one’s else remissness and finds self-justification in it, or, if necessary, material for revenge. But why did Mme. de H-- seek a demonstration which might so easily have been avoided? Accustomed to publicity, and having won great popularity, she had every possible advantage over Raymonde, whose timidity, interpreted as disdain, had not made her a favourite. But in that salon, as when hunting in a forest, one lay in wait for death and inhaled an odour of blood.