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“By sight only; I have sometimes met with him in society.”

“He is then not one of your friends?”

“He is not even an acquaintance of mine.”

“Ah! so much the better,” said Louis.

“Why so?”

“Oh! nothing.”

“But you, do you know him?”

“Indirectly, I do.”

Notwithstanding the evasive character of his answer, I could easily perceive
that there existed between Monsieur de Franchi and Monsieur de Château-Renaud,
one of those mysterious relations, the conductor of which is a woman. An
instinctive feeling told me it would be better for my companion that we should
both return home.

“Now see here, Mons. de Franchi, began I, “will you believe in my advice?”

“What is it? speak!”

“Let us not go to D’s to supper.”

“But why not? does he not expect us? and have you not told him already that
you would bring me along?”

“Certainly I have, but that is not my reason.”

“What is it, then?”

“Because I merely think it would be better for us not to go there.”

“But, finally, you have a reason for thus changing your mind; awhile ago you
insisted upon taking me there almost in spite of myself.”

“We should only meet Monsieur de Château-Renaud.”

“So much the better. He is said to be very agreeable, and I would be
delighted to make a more intimate acquaintance with him.”

“Well then, be it so,” replied I.

“We will go then because you wish it.”

We went down stairs to get our paletots. Monsieur Dujarrier lived only a few
doors from the opera house. It was delightful weather, and as I thought the
fresh air mould serve to calm the mind of my companion a little, I proposed
taking a short walk, to which he assented.

We found in the salon several of my friends, loungers of the green-room of
the opera, tenants of that infernal box of B.—L.—V.—A A. Besides, as I had
suspected, two or three dominos unmasked, keeping their bouquets of flowers in
their hands, waiting for the moment of placing them in the decanters.

I introduced Louis de Franchi to one and another; he was of course politely
received by all of them.

In about ten minutes after Dujarrier arrived, in his turn, introducing the
bouquet of myosotis, who took her mask off with an abandon and ease, which
indicated first the beautiful woman, and then one accustomed to this kind of
society.

I presented M. de Franchi to Dujarrier.

“Now,” said one of the guests, M. de B., “if the introductions are all over,
I propose that we sit down to supper.”

“All the introductions are made, but all the guests have not yet arrived,”
said Dujarrier.

“And who is to come yet?”

“Château-Renaud has not arrived yet.”

” Ah! that’s true, is there not a bet pending?” asked V.

“Yes, the bet is a supper for twelve persons, that he will not bring a
certain lady, whom he has pledged himself to bring here.”

“And, pray, who is this lady,” asked the bouquet of myosotis, “who is so shy
as to be the object of such bets?”

I looked at de Franchi; he was apparently calm, but as pale as death.

“Upon my soul,” said Dujarrier, “I don’t think it would be a great
indiscretion to give the name of the mask, especially as in all probability you
don’t know her. It is Madame—” Louis put his hand on D’s arm.

“Sir,” said he to him, “for the sake of our new acquaintance, grant me one
favor.”

“What is it?”

“Do not name the person who is coming with Mons. Château-Renaud; you know
that she is a married lady.”

“Yes, but her husband is at Smyrna, in the Indies, at Mexico, or I don’t know
where; and you know that when a husband is so far away it is just as good as if
he were no longer in existence.”

“Her husband will be back in a few days. I know him: he is an honorable man,
and I wish, if possible, to save him the grief of learning on his return, that
his wife has committed an indiscretion of this kind.”

“In that case, excuse me, sir,” said D., I was ignorant of your acquaintance
with this lady; I was not even aware that she was married. But as you know her
and know her husband too—”