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“Courage,” said the Colonel. “Courage, Soulanges!” Then, believing he would do him a service by dragging him from play, he added: “Come with me. I have some good news for you, but on one condition.”

“What is that?” asked Soulanges.

“That you will answer a question I will ask you.”

The Comte de Soulanges rose abruptly, placing his winnings with reckless indifference in his handkerchief, which he had been twisting with convulsive nervousness, and his expression was so savage that none of the players took exception to his walking off with their money. Indeed, every face seemed to dilate with relief when his morose and crabbed countenance was no longer to be seen under the circle of light which a shaded lamp casts on a gaming-table.

“Those fiends of soldiers are always as thick as thieves at a fair!” said a diplomate who had been looking on, as he took Soulanges’ place. One single pallid and fatigued face turned to the newcomer, and said with a glance that flashed and died out like the sparkle of a diamond: “When we say military men, we do not mean civil, Monsieur le Ministre.”

“My dear fellow,” said Montcornet to Soulanges, leading him into a corner, “the Emperor spoke warmly in your praise this morning, and your promotion to be field-marshal is a certainty.”

“The Master does not love the Artillery.”

“No, but he adores the nobility, and you are an aristocrat. The Master said,” added Montcornet, “that the men who had married in Paris during the campaign were not therefore to be considered in disgrace. Well then?”

The Comte de Soulanges looked as if he understood nothing of this speech.

“And now I hope,” the Colonel went on, “that you will tell me if you know a charming little woman who is sitting under a huge candelabrum—-“

At these words the Count’s face lighted up; he violently seized the Colonel’s hand: “My dear General,” said he, in a perceptibly altered voice, “if any man but you had asked me such a question, I would have cracked his skull with this mass of gold. Leave me, I entreat you. I feel more like blowing out my brains this evening, I assure you, than —-I hate everything I see. And, in fact, I am going. This gaiety, this music, these stupid faces, all laughing, are killing me!”

“My poor friend!” replied Montcornet gently, and giving the Count’s hand a friendly pressure, “you are too vehement. What would you say if I told you that Martial is thinking so little of Madame de Vaudremont that he is quite smitten with that little lady?”

“If he says a word to her,” cried Soulanges, stammering with rage, “I will thrash him as flat as his own portfolio, even if the coxcomb were in the Emperor’s lap!”

And he sank quite overcome on an easy-chair to which Montcornet had led him. The colonel slowly went away, for he perceived that Soulanges was in a state of fury far too violent for the pleasantries or the attentions of superficial friendship to soothe him.

When Montcornet returned to the ballroom, Madame de Vaudremont was the first person on whom his eyes fell, and he observed on her face, usually so calm, some symptoms of ill-disguised agitation. A chair was vacant near hers, and the Colonel seated himself.

“I dare wager something has vexed you?” said he.

“A mere trifle, General. I want to be gone, for I have promised to go to a ball at the Grand Duchess of Berg’s, and I must look in first at the Princesse de Wagram’s. Monsieur de la Roche-Hugon, who knows this, is amusing himself by flirting with the dowagers.”

“That is not the whole secret of your disturbance, and I will bet a hundred louis that you will remain here the whole evening.”

“Impertinent man!”

“Then I have hit the truth?”

“Well, tell me, what am I thinking of?” said the Countess, tapping the Colonel’s fingers with her fan. “I might even reward you if you guess rightly.”