The countess Sabine, as it had become customary to call Mme Muffat de Beuville in order to distinguish her from the count's mother, who had died the year before, was wont¹ to receive every Tuesday in her house in the Rue² Miromesnil at the corner of the Rue de Pentievre. It was a great square building, and the Muffats had lived in it for a hundred years or more. On the side of the street its frontage seemed to slumber³, so lofty was it and dark, so sad and conventlike, with its great outer shutters⁴, which were nearly always closed. And at the back in a little dark garden some trees had grown up and were straining toward the sunlight with such long slender branches that their tips were visible above the roof.

This particular Tuesday, toward ten o'clock in the evening, there were scarcely a dozen people in the drawing room. When she was only expecting intimate friends the countess opened neither the little drawing room nor the dining room. One felt more at home on such occasions and chatted round the fire. The drawing room was very large and very lofty; its four windows looked out upon the garden, from which, on this rainy evening of the close of April, issued a sensation of damp despite the great logs burning on the hearth⁵. The sun never shone down into the room; in the daytime it was dimly lit up by a faint greenish light, but at night, when the lamps and the chandelier were burning, it looked merely a serious old chamber⁶ with its massive mahogany First Empire furniture, its hangings and chair coverings of yellow velvet⁷, stamped with a large design. Entering it, one was in an atmosphere of cold dignity, of ancient manners, of a vanished age, the air of which seemed devotional.

Opposite the armchair, however, in which the count's mother had died--a square armchair of formal design and inhospitable padding, which stood by the hearthside--the Countess Sabine was seated in a deep and cozy⁸ lounge, the red silk upholsteries of which were soft as eider down. It was the only piece of modern furniture there, a fanciful item introduced amid the prevailing⁹ severity and clashing with it.

"So we shall have the shah of Persia," the young woman was saying.

They were talking of the crowned heads who were coming to Paris for the exhibition. Several ladies had formed a circle round the hearth, and Mme du Joncquoy, whose brother, a diplomat¹⁰, had just fulfilled a mission in the East, was giving some details about the court of Nazr-ed-Din.

"Are you out of sorts, my dear?" asked Mme Chantereau, the wife of an ironmaster, seeing the countess shivering slightly and growing pale as she did so.

"Oh no, not at all," replied the latter, smiling. "I felt a little cold. This drawing room takes so long to warm."

And with that she raised her melancholy¹² eyes and scanned the walls from floor to ceiling. Her daughter Estelle, a slight, insignificant¹³-looking girl of sixteen, the thankless period of life, quitted the large footstool on which she was sitting and silently came and propped¹⁴ up one of the logs which had rolled from its place. But Mme de Chezelles, a convent friend of Sabine's and her junior by five years, exclaimed:

"Dear me, I would gladly be possessed¹⁵ of a drawing room such as yours! At any rate, you are able to receive visitors. They only build boxes nowadays. Oh, if I were in your place!"

She ran giddily on and with lively gestures explained how she would alter the hangings, the seats--everything, in fact. Then she would give balls to which all Paris should run. Behind her seat her husband, a magistrate¹⁶, stood listening with serious air. It was rumored¹⁸ that she deceived him quite openly, but people pardoned her offense¹⁹ and received her just the same, because, they said, "she's not answerable for her actions."

"Oh that Leonide!" the Countess Sabine contented²⁰ herself by murmuring, smiling her faint smile the while.

With a languid movement she eked²¹ out the thought that was in her. After having lived there seventeen years she certainly would not alter her drawing room now. It would henceforth remain just such as her mother-in-law had wished to preserve it during her lifetime. Then returning to the subject of conversation:

"I have been assured," she said, "that we shall also have the king of Prussia and the emperor of Russia."

'Yes, some very fine fetes are promised," said Mme du Joncquoy.

The banker Steiner, not long since introduced into this circle by Leonide de Chezelles, who was acquainted with the whole of Parisian society, was sitting chatting on a sofa between two of the windows. He was questioning a deputy, from whom he was endeavoring with much adroitness²² to elicit²³ news about a movement on the stock exchange of which he had his suspicions, while the Count Muffat, standing²⁴ in front of them, was silently listening to their talk, looking, as he did so, even grayer than was his wont.

Four or five young men formed another group near the door round the Count Xavier de Vandeuvres, who in a low tone was telling them an anecdote²⁵. It was doubtless a very risky²⁶ one, for they were choking with laughter. Companionless in the center of the room, a stout²⁷ man, a chief clerk at the Ministry²⁸ of the Interior, sat heavily in an armchair, dozing²⁹ with his eyes open. But when one of the young men appeared to doubt the truth of the anecdote Vandeuvres raised his voice.

"You are too much of a skeptic³⁰, Foucarmont; you'll spoil all your pleasures that way."

And he returned to the ladies with a laugh. Last scion³¹ of a great family, of feminine manners and witty³² tongue, he was at that time running through a fortune with a rage of life and appetite which nothing could appease³³. His racing³⁴ stable, which was one of the best known in Paris, cost him a fabulous³⁵ amount of money; his betting losses at the Imperial Club amounted monthly to an alarming number of pounds, while taking one year with another, his mistresses would be always devouring³⁶ now a farm, now some acres of arable³⁷ land or forest, which amounted, in fact, to quite a respectable slice of his vast estates in Picardy.

"I advise you to call other people skeptics! Why, you don't believe a thing yourself," said Leonide, making shift to find him a little space in which to sit down at her side.

"It's you who spoil your own pleasures."

"Exactly," he replied. "I wish to make others benefit by my experience."

But the company imposed silence on him: he was scandalizing M. Venot. And, the ladies having changed their positions, a little old man of sixty, with bad teeth and a subtle smile, became visible in the depths of an easy chair. There he sat as comfortably as in his own house, listening to everybody's remarks and making none himself. With a slight gesture he announced himself by no means scandalized. Vandeuvres once more assumed his dignified³⁸ bearing and added gravely:

"Monsieur Venot is fully³⁹ aware that I believe what it is one's duty to believe."

It was an act of faith, and even Leonide appeared satisfied. The young men at the end of the room no longer laughed; the company were old fogies, and amusement was not to be found there. A cold breath of wind had passed over them, and amid the ensuing silence Steiner's nasal voice became audible. The deputy's discreet⁴⁰ answers were at last driving him to desperation. For a second or two the Countess Sabine looked at the fire; then she resumed the conversation.

"I saw the king of Prussia at Baden-Baden last year. He's still full of vigor⁴¹ for his age."

"Count Bismarck is to accompany him," said Mme du Joncquoy. "Do you know the count? I lunched with him at my brother's ages ago, when he was representative of Prussia in Paris. There's a man now whose latest successes I cannot in the least understand."

"But why?" asked Mme Chantereau.

"Good gracious, how am I to explain? He doesn't please me. His appearance is boorish⁴² and underbred. Besides, so far as I am concerned, I find him stupid."

With that the whole room spoke⁴³ of Count Bismarck, and opinions differed considerably⁴⁴. Vandeuvres knew him and assured the company that he was great in his cups and at play. But when the discussion was at its height the door was opened, and Hector de la Falois made his appearance. Fauchery, who followed in his wake, approached the countess and, bowing:

"Madame," he said, "I have not forgotten your extremely kind invitation."

She smiled and made a pretty little speech. The journalist, after bowing to the count, stood for some moments in the middle of the drawing room. He only recognized Steiner and accordingly looked rather out of his element. But Vandeuvres turned and came and shook hands with him. And forthwith, in his delight at the meeting and with a sudden desire to be confidential⁴⁵, Fauchery buttonholed him and said in a low voice:

"It's tomorrow. Are you going?"

"Egad, yes."

"At midnight, at her house.

"I know, I know. I'm going with Blanche."

He wanted to escape and return to the ladies in order to urge yet another reason in M. de Bismarck's favor. But Fauchery detained him.

"You never will guess whom she has charged me to invite."

And with a slight nod he indicated Count Muffat, who was just then discussing a knotty⁴⁷ point in the budget with Steiner and the deputy.

"It's impossible," said Vandeuvres, stupefaction and merriment in his tones. "My word on it! I had to swear that I would bring him to her. Indeed, that's one of my reasons for coming here."

Both laughed silently, and Vandeuvres, hurriedly rejoining the circle of ladies, cried out:

"I declare that on the contrary Monsieur de Bismarck is exceedingly witty. For instance, one evening he said a charmingly epigrammatic thing in my presence."

La Faloise meanwhile had heard the few rapid sentences thus whisperingly interchanged, and he gazed at Fauchery in hopes of an explanation which was not vouchsafed⁴⁸ him. Of whom were they talking, and what were they going to do at midnight tomorrow? He did not leave his cousin's side again. The latter had gone and seated himself. He was especially interested by the Countess Sabine. Her name had often been mentioned in his presence, and he knew that, having been married at the age of seventeen, she must now be thirty-four and that since her marriage she had passed a cloistered⁴⁹ existence with her husband and her mother-in-law. In society some spoke of her as a woman of religious chastity, while others pitied her and recalled to memory her charming bursts of laughter and the burning glances of her great eyes in the days prior to her imprisonment⁵⁰ in this old town house. Fauchery scrutinized⁵¹ her and yet hesitated.One of his friends, a captain who had recently died in Mexico, had, on the very eve of his departure, made him one of those gross postprandial confessions⁵², of which even the most prudent⁵³ among men are occasionally guilty. But of this he only retained a vague recollection; they had dined not wisely but too well that evening, and when he saw the countess, in her black dress and with her quiet smile, seated in that Old World drawing room, he certainly had his doubts. A lamp which had been placed behind her threw into clear relief her dark, delicate, plump side face, wherein a certain heaviness in the contours of the mouth alone indicated a species of imperious sensuality.

"What do they want with their Bismarck?" muttered La Faloise, whose constant pretense⁵⁴ it was to be bored in good society. "One's ready to kick the bucket here. A pretty idea of yours it was to want to come!"

Fauchery questioned him abruptly⁵⁶.

"Now tell me, does the countess admit someone to her embraces?"

"Oh dear, no, no! My dear fellow!" he stammered⁵⁷, manifestly taken aback and quite forgetting his pose. "Where d'you think we are?"

After which he was conscious of a want of up-to-dateness in this outburst of indignation and, throwing himself back on a great sofa, he added:

"Gad⁴⁶! I say no! But I don't know much about it. There's a little chap out there, Foucarmont they call him, who's to be met with everywhere and at every turn. One's seen faster men than that, though, you bet. However, it doesn't concern me, and indeed, all I know is that if the countess indulges in high jinks she's still pretty sly about it, for the thing never gets about--nobody talks."

Then although Fauchery did not take the trouble to question him, he told him all he knew about the Muffats. Amid the conversation of the ladies, which still continued in front of the hearth, they both spoke in subdued⁵⁸ tones, and, seeing them there with their white cravats⁵⁹ and gloves, one might have supposed them to be discussing in chosen phraseology some really serious topic. Old Mme Muffat then, whom La Faloise had been well acquainted with, was an insufferable old lady, always hand in glove with the priests. She had the grand manner, besides, and an authoritative⁶⁰ way of comporting⁶¹ herself, which bent⁶² everybody to her will. As to Muffat, he was an old man's child; his father, a general, had been created count by Napoleon I, and naturally he had found himself in favor after the second of December. He hadn't much gaiety of manner either, but he passed for a very honest man of straightforward⁶³ intentions and understanding. Add to these a code of old aristocratic ideas and such a lofty conception of his duties at court, of his dignities and of his virtues⁶⁴, that he behaved like a god on wheels. It was the Mamma Muffat who had given him this precious education with its daily visits to the confessional, its complete absence of escapades and of all that is meant by youth. He was a practicing Christian⁶⁵ and had attacks of faith of such fiery⁶⁶ violence that they might be likened to accesses of burning fever. Finally, in order to add a last touch to the picture, La Faloise whispered something in his cousin's ear.

"You don't say so!" said the latter.

"On my word of honor, they swore it was true! He was still like that when he married."

Fauchery chuckled⁶⁸ as he looked at the count, whose face, with its fringe of whiskers and absence of mustaches, seemed to have grown squarer and harder now that he was busy quoting figures to the writhing⁶⁹, struggling Steiner.

"My word, he's got a phiz for it!" murmured Fauchery. "A pretty present he made his wife! Poor little thing, how he must have bored her! She knows nothing about anything, I'll wager⁷⁰!"

Just then the Countess Sabine was saying something to him. But he did not hear her, so amusing and extraordinary did he esteem⁷¹ the Muffats' case. She repeated the question.

"Monsieur Fauchery, have you not published a sketch⁷² of Monsieur de Bismarck? You spoke with him once?"

He got up briskly and approached the circle of ladies, endeavoring to collect himself and soon with perfect ease of manner finding an answer:

"Dear me, madame, I assure you I wrote that 'portrait' with the help of biographies which had been published in Germany. I have never seen Monsieur de Bismarck."

He remained beside the countess and, while talking with her, continued his meditations⁷³. She did not look her age; one would have set her down as being twenty-eight at most, for her eyes, above all, which were filled with the dark blue shadow of her long eyelashes, retained the glowing light of youth. Bred in a divided family, so that she used to spend one month with the Marquis de Chouard, another with the marquise, she had been married very young, urged on, doubtless, by her father, whom she embarrassed after her mother's death. A terrible man was the marquis, a man about whom strange tales were beginning to be told, and that despite his lofty piety⁷⁴! Fauchery asked if he should have the honor of meeting him. Certainly her father was coming, but only very late; he had so much work on hand! The journalist thought he knew where the old gentleman passed his evenings and looked grave. But a mole⁷⁵, which  he noticed close to her mouth on the countess's left cheek, surprised him. Nana had precisely⁷⁶ the same mole. It was curious. Tiny hairs curled up on it, only they were golden in Nana's case, black as jet in this. Ah well, never mind! This woman enjoyed

nobody's embraces.

"I have always felt a wish to know Queen Augusta," she said. "They say she is so good, so devout⁷⁷. Do you think she will accompany the king?"

"It is not thought that she will, madame," he replied.

She had no lovers: the thing was only too apparent. One had only to look at her there by the side of that daughter of hers, sitting so insignificant and constrained⁷⁸ on her footstool. That sepulchral⁷⁹ drawing room of hers, which exhaled⁸⁰ odors suggestive of being in a church, spoke as plainly as words could of the iron hand, the austere⁸¹ mode of existence, that weighed her down. There was nothing suggestive of her own personality in that ancient abode⁸², black with the damps of years. It was Muffat who made himself felt there, who dominated his surroundings with his devotional training, his penances⁸³ and his fasts. But the sight of the little old gentleman with the black teeth and subtle smile whom he suddenly discovered in his armchair behind the group of ladies afforded him a yet more decisive argument. He knew the personage. It was Theophile Venot, a retired⁸⁴ lawyer who had made a specialty⁸⁵ of church cases. He had left off practice with a handsome fortune and was now leading a sufficiently⁸⁶ mysterious existence, for he was received everywhere, treated with great deference⁸⁷ and even somewhat feared, as though he had been the representative of a mighty⁸⁸ force, an occult power, which was felt to be at his back. Nevertheless, his behavior was very humble⁸⁹. He was churchwarden at the Madeleine Church and had simply accepted the post of deputy mayor at the town house of the Ninth Arrondissement in order, as he said, to have something to do in his leisure time. Deuce take it, the countess was well guarded; there was nothing to be done in that quarter.

"You're right, it's enough to make one kick the bucket here," said Fauchery to his cousin when he had made good his escape from the circle of ladies. "We'll hook it!"

But Steiner, deserted⁹⁰ at last by the Count Muffat and the deputy, came up in a fury. Drops of perspiration⁹¹ stood on his forehead, and he grumbled⁹² huskily:

"Gad! Let 'em tell me nothing, if nothing they want to tell me. I shall find people who will talk."

Then he pushed the journalist into a corner and, altering his tone, said in accents of victory:

"It's tomorrow, eh? I'm of the party, my bully⁹³!"

"Indeed!" muttered Fauchery with some astonishment⁹⁴.

"You didn't know about it. Oh, I had lots of bother to find her at home. Besides, Mignon never would leave me alone."

"But they're to be there, are the Mignons."

"Yes, she told me so. In fact, she did receive my visit, and she invited me. Midnight punctually, after the play."

The banker was beaming. He winked⁹⁶ and added with a peculiar⁹⁷ emphasis on the words:

"You've worked it, eh?"

"Eh, what?" said Fauchery, pretending not to understand him. "She wanted to thank me for my article, so she came and called on me."

"Yes, yes. You fellows are fortunate. You get rewarded. By the by, who pays the piper tomorrow?"

The journalist made a slight outward movement with his arms, as though he would intimate that no one had ever been able to find out. But Vandeuvres called to Steiner, who knew M. de Bismarck. Mme du Joncquoy had almost convinced herself of the truth of her suppositions; she concluded with these words:

"He gave me an unpleasant impression. I think his face is evil. But I am quite willing to believe that he has a deal of wit. It would account for his successes."

"Without doubt," said the banker with a faint smile. He was a Jew from Frankfort.

Meanwhile La Faloise at last made bold to question his cousin. He followed him up and got inside his guard:

"There's supper at a woman's tomorrow evening? With which of them, eh? With which of them?"

Fauchery motioned to him that they were overheard and must respect the conventions here.The door had just been opened anew, and an old lady had come in, followed by a young man in whom the journalist recognized the truant⁹⁸ schoolboy, perpetrator of the famous and as yet unforgotten "tres chic⁹⁹" of the Blonde Venus first night. This lady's arrival caused a stir among the company. The Countess Sabine had risen briskly from her seat in order to go and greet her, and she had taken both her hands in hers and addressed her as her "dear Madame Hugon." Seeing that his cousin viewed this little episode with some curiosity, La Faloise sought to arouse his interest and in a few brief phrases explained the position. Mme Hugon, widow of a notary¹⁰⁰, lived in retirement¹⁰¹ at Les Fondettes, an old estate of her family's in the neighborhood of Orleans, but she also kept up a small establishment in Paris in a house belonging to her in the Rue de Richelieu and was now passing some weeks there in order to settle her youngest son, who was reading the law and in his "first year." In old times she had been a dear friend of the Marquise de Chouard and had assisted at the birth of the countess, who, prior to her marriage, used to stay at her house for months at a time and even now was quite familiarly treated by her.

"I have brought Georges to see you," said Mme Hugon to Sabine. "He's grown, I trust."

The young man with his clear eyes and the fair curls which suggested a girl dressed up as a boy bowed easily to the countess and reminded her of a bout¹¹ of battledore and shuttlecock they had had together two years ago at Les Fondettes.

"Philippe is not in Paris?" asked Count Muffat.

"Dear me, no!" replied the old lady. "He is always in garrison¹⁰² at Bourges." She had seated herself and began talking with considerable pride of her eldest¹⁰³ son, a great big fellow who, after enlisting¹⁰⁴ in a fit of waywardness, had of late very rapidly attained¹⁰⁵ the rank of lieutenant¹⁰⁶. All the ladies behaved to her with respectful sympathy, and conversation was resumed in a tone at once more amiable¹⁰⁷ and more refined. Fauchery, at sight of that respectable Mme Hugon, that motherly face lit up with such a kindly¹⁰⁸ smile beneath its broad tresses of white hair, thought how foolish he had been to suspect the Countess Sabine even for an instant.

Nevertheless, the big chair with the red silk upholsteries in which the countess sat had attracted his attention. Its style struck him as crude, not to say fantastically suggestive, in that dim old drawing room. Certainly it was not the count who had inveigled¹⁰⁹ thither¹¹⁰ that nest of voluptuous¹¹¹ idleness. One might have described it as an experiment, marking the birth of an appetite and of an enjoyment¹¹². Then he forgot where he was, fell into brown study and in thought even harked back to that vague confidential announcement imparted to him one evening in the dining room of a restaurant.Impelled¹¹³ by a sort of sensuous¹¹⁴ curiosity, he had always wanted an introduction into the Muffats' circle, and now that his friend was in Mexico through all eternity¹¹⁵, who could tell what might happen? "We shall see," he thought. It was a folly¹¹⁶, doubtless, but the idea kept tormenting¹¹⁷ him; he felt himself drawn¹¹⁸ on and his animal nature aroused. The big chair had a rumpled¹¹⁹ look--its nether¹²⁰ cushions had been tumbled, a fact which now amused him.

"Well, shall we be off?" asked La Faloise, mentally vowing¹²¹ that once outside he would find out the name of the woman with whom people were going to sup.

"All in good time," replied Fauchery.

But he was no longer in any hurry and excused himself on the score of the invitation he had been commissioned to give and had as yet not found a convenient opportunity to mention. The ladies were chatting about an assumption of the veil, a very touching¹²² ceremony by which the whole of Parisian society had for the last three days been greatly moved. It was the eldest daughter of the Baronne de Fougeray, who, under stress of an irresistible¹²³ vocation¹²⁴, had just entered the Carmelite Convent. Mme Chantereau, a distant cousin of the Fougerays, told how the baroness¹²⁵ had been obliged to take to her bed the day after the ceremony, so overdone¹²⁶ was she with weeping.

"I had a very good place," declared Leonide. "I found it interesting."

Nevertheless, Mme Hugon pitied the poor mother. How sad to lose a daughter in such a way!

"I am accused of being overreligious," she said in her quiet, frank manner, "but that does not prevent me thinking the children very cruel who obstinately¹²⁷ commit such suicide."

"Yes, it's a terrible thing," murmured the countess, shivering a little, as became a chilly¹²⁸ person, and huddling¹²⁹ herself anew in the depths of her big chair in front of the fire.

Then the ladies fell into a discussion. But their voices were discreetly¹³⁰ attuned¹³¹, while light trills of laughter now and again interrupted the gravity of their talk. The two lamps on the chimney piece, which had shades of rose-colored lace, cast a feeble light over them while on scattered¹³² pieces of furniture there burned but three other lamps, so that the great drawing room remained in soft shadow.

Steiner was getting bored. He was describing to Fauchery an escapade of that little Mme de Chezelles, whom he simply referred to as Leonide. "A blackguard woman," he said, lowering his voice behind the ladies' armchairs. Fauchery looked at her as she sat quaintly¹³³ perched, in her voluminous ball dress of pale blue satin, on the corner of her armchair. She looked as slight and impudent¹³⁴ as a boy, and he ended by feeling astonished at seeing her there. People comported¹³⁵ themselves better at Caroline Hequet's, whose mother had arranged her house on serious principles. Here was a perfect subject for an article. Whuat a strange world was this world of Paris! The most rigid¹³⁶ circles found themselves invaded. Evidently that silent Theophile Venot, who contented himself by smiling and showing his ugly teeth, must have been a legacy¹³⁷ from the late countess. So, too, must have been such ladies of mature age as Mme Chantereau and Mme du Joncquoy, besides four or five old gentlemen who sat motionless in corners. The Count Muffat attracted to the house a series of functionaries¹³⁸, distinguished¹³⁹ by the immaculate personal appearance which was at that time required of the men at the Tuileries. Among others there was the chief clerk,who still sat solitary¹⁴⁰ in the middle of the room with his closely shorn cheeks, his vacant glance and his coat so tight of fit that he could scarce venture to move. Almost all the young men and certain individuals with distinguished, aristocratic manners were the Marquis de Chouard's contribution to the circle, he having kept touch with the Legitimist party after making his peace with the empire on his entrance into the Council of State. There remained Leonide de Chezelles and Steiner, an ugly little knot against which Mme Hugon's elderly and amiable serenity¹⁴¹ stood out in strange contrast. And Fauchery, having sketched¹⁴² out his article, named this last group "Countess Sabine's little clique¹⁴³."

"On another occasion," continued Steiner in still lower tones, "Leonide got her tenor¹⁴⁴ down to Montauban. She was living in the Chateau¹⁴⁵ de Beaurecueil, two leagues farther off, and she used to come in daily in a carriage and pair in order to visit him at the Lion d'Or, where he had put up. The carriage used to wait at the door, and Leonide would stay for hours in the house, while a crowd gathered round and looked at the horses."

There was a pause in the talk, and some solemn moments passed silently by in the lofty room. Two young men were whispering, but they ceased in their turn, and the hushed step of Count Muffat was alone audible as he crossed the floor. The lamps seemed to have paled; the fire was going out; a stern shadow fell athwart the old friends of the house where they sat in the chairs they had occupied there for forty years back. It was as though in a momentary¹⁴⁶ pause of conversation the invited guests had become suddenly aware that the count's mother, in all her glacial stateliness, had returned among them.

But the Countess Sabine had once more resumed:

"Well, at last the news of it got about. The young man was likely to die, and that would explain the poor child's adoption¹⁴⁷ of the religious life. Besides, they say that Monsieur de Fougeray wold never have given his consent to the marriage."

"They say heaps of other things too," cried Leonide giddily.

She fell a-laughing; she refused to talk. Sabine was won over by this gaiety and put her handkerchief up to her lips. And in the vast and solemn room their laughter sounded a note which struck Fauchery strangely,the note of delicate glass breaking. Assuredly here was the first beginning of the "little rift¹⁴⁸." Everyone began talking again. Mme du Joncquoy demurred¹⁴⁹; Mme Chantereau knew for certain that a marriage had been projected but that matters had gone no further; the men even ventured to give their opinions. For some minutes the conversation was a babel of opinions, in which the divers¹⁵⁰ elements of the circle, whether Bonapartist or Legitimist or merely worldly and skeptical¹⁵¹, appeared to jostle one another simultaneously¹⁵². Estelle had rung to order wood to be put on the fire; the footman turned up the lamps; the room seemed to wake from sleep. Fauchery began smiling, as though once more at his ease.

"Egad, they become the brides of God when they couldn't be their cousin's," said Vandeuvres between his teeth.

The subject bored him, and he had rejoined Fauchery.

"My dear fellow, have you ever seen a woman who was really loved become a nun¹⁵³?"

He did not wait for an answer, for he had had enough of the topic, and in a hushed voice:

"Tell me," he said, "how many of us will there be tomorrow? There'll be the Mignons, Steiner, yourself, Blanche and I; who else?"

"Caroline, I believe, and Simonne and Gaga without doubt. One never knows exactly, does one? On such occasions one expects the party will number twenty, and you're really thirty."

Vandeuvres, who was looking at the ladies, passed abruptly to another subject:

"She must have been very nice-looking, that Du Joncquoy woman, some fifteen years ago. Poor Estelle has grown lankier¹⁵⁴ than ever. What a nice lath to put into a bed!"

But interrupting himself, he returned to the subject of tomorrow's supper.

"What's so tiresome¹⁵⁵ of those shows is that it's always the same set of women. One wants a novelty. Do try and invent a new girl. By Jove, happy thought! I'll go and beseech¹⁵⁶ that stout man to bring the woman he was trotting¹⁵⁷ about the other evening at the Varietes."

He referred to the chief clerk, sound asleep in the middle of the drawing room. Fauchery, afar off, amused himself by following this delicate negotiation¹⁵⁸. Vandeuvres had sat himself down by the stout man, who still looked very sedate¹⁵⁹. For some moments they both appeared to be discussing with much propriety¹⁶⁰ the question before the house, which was, "How can one discover the exact state of feeling that urges a young girl to enter into the religious life?" Then the count returned with the remark:

"It's impossible. He swears she's straight. She'd refuse, and yet I would have wagered¹⁶¹ that I once saw her at Laure's."

"Eh, what? You go to Laure's?" murmured Fauchery with a chuckle⁶⁷. "You venture your reputation in places like that? I was under the impression that it was only we poor devils of outsiders who--"

"Ah, dear boy, one ought to see every side of life."

Then they sneered¹⁶² and with sparkling eyes they compared notes about the table d'hote in the Rue des Martyrs¹⁶³, where big Laure Piedefer ran a dinner at three francs a head for little women in difficulties. A nice hole, where all the little women used to kiss Laure on the lips! And as the Countess Sabine, who had overheard a stray word or two, turned toward them, they started back, rubbing shoulders in excited merriment. They had not noticed that Georges Hugon was close by and that he was listening to them, blushing so hotly the while that a rosy¹⁶⁴ flush had spread from his ears to his girlish throat. The infant was full of shame and of ecstasy¹⁶⁵. From the moment his mother had turned him loose in the room he had been hovering¹⁶⁶ in the wake of Mme de Chezelles, the only woman present who struck him as being the thing. But after all is said and done, Nana licked her to fits!

"Yesterday evening," Mme Hugon was saying, "Georges took me to the play. Yes, we went to the Varietes, where I certainly had not set foot for the last ten years. That child adores music. As to me, I wasn't in the least amused, but he was so happy! They put extraordinary pieces on the stage nowadays. Besides, music delights me very little, I confess."

"What! You don't love music, madame?" cried Mme du Joncquoy, lifting her eyes to heaven. "Is it possible there should be people who don't love music?"

The exclamation¹⁶⁷ of surprise was general. No one had dropped a single word concerning the performance at the Varietes, at which the good Mme Hugon had not understood any of the allusions¹⁶⁸. The ladies knew the piece but said nothing about it, and with that they plunged¹⁷⁰ into the realm of sentiment and began discussing the masters in a tone of refined and ecstatical admiration¹⁷¹. Mme du Joncquoy was not fond of any of them save Weber, while Mme Chantereau stood up for the Italians. The ladies' voices had turned soft and languishing¹⁷², and in front of the hearth one might have fancied one's self listening in meditative¹⁷³, religious retirement to the faint, discreet music of a little chapel¹⁷⁴.

"Now let's see," murmured Vandeuvres, bringing Fauchery back into the middle of the drawing room, "notwithstanding it all, we must invent a woman for tomorrow. Shall we ask Steiner about it?"

"Oh, when Steiner's got hold of a woman," said the journalist, "it's because Paris has done with her."

Vandeuvres, however, was searching about on every side.

"Wait a bit," he continued, "the other day I met Foucarmont with a charming blonde. I'll go and tell him to bring her."

And he called to Foucarmont. They exchanged a few words rapidly. There must have been some sort of complication, for both of them, moving carefully forward and stepping over the dresses of the ladies, went off in quest of another young man with whom they continued the discussion in the embrasure of a window. Fauchery was left to himself and had just decided¹⁷⁵ to proceed to the hearth, where Mme du Joncquoy was announcing that she never heard Weber played without at the same time seeing lakes, forests and sunrises over landscapes steeped in dew, when a hand touched his shoulder and a voice behind him remarked:"It's not civil of you."

"What d'you mean?" he asked, turning round and recognizing La Faloise.

"Why, about that supper tomorrow. You might easily have got me invited."

Fauchery was at length about to state his reasons when Vandeuvres came back to tell him:"It appears it isn't a girl of Foucarmont's. It's that man's flame out there. She won't be able to come. What a piece of bad luck! But all the same I've pressed Foucarmont into the service, and he's going to try to get Louise from the Palais-Royal."

"Is it not true, Monsieur de Vandeuvres," asked Mme Chantereau, raising her voice, "that Wagner's music was hissed¹⁷⁷ last Sunday?"

"Oh, frightfully, madame," he made answer, coming forward with his usual exquisite¹⁷⁸ politeness.

Then, as they did not detain him, he moved off and continued whispering in the journalist's ear:"I'm going to press some more of them. These young fellows must know some little ladies."

With that he was observed to accost¹⁷⁹ men and to engage them in conversation in his usual amiable and smiling way in every corner of the drawing room. He mixed with the various groups, said something confidently to everyone and walked away again with a sly wink⁹⁵ and a secret signal or two. It looked as though he were giving out a watchword in that easy way of his. The news went round; the place of meeting was announced, while the ladies' sentimental¹⁸⁰ dissertations¹⁸¹ on music served to conceal¹⁸² the small, feverish¹⁸³ rumor¹⁷ of these recruiting operations.

"No, do not speak of your Germans," Mme Chantereau was saying. "Song is gaiety; song is light. Have you heard Patti in the Barber of Seville?"

"She was delicious!" murmured Leonide, who strummed none but operatic airs on her piano.

Meanwhile the Countess Sabine had rung. When on Tuesdays the number of visitors was small, tea was handed round the drawing room itself. While directing a footman to clear a round table the countess followed the Count de Vandeuvres with her eyes. She still smiled that vague smile which slightly disclosed her white teeth, and as the count passed she questioned him.

"What ARE you plotting, Monsieur de Vandeuvres?"

"What am I plotting, madame?" he answered quietly. "Nothing at all."

"Really! I saw you so busy. Pray, wait, you shall make yourself useful!"

She placed an album in his hands and asked him to put it on the piano. But he found means to inform Fauchery in a low whisper that they would have Tatan Nene, the most finely developed girl that winter, and Maria Blond, the same who had just made her first appearance at the Folies-Dramatiques. Meanwhile La Faloise stopped him at every step in hopes of receiving an invitation. He ended by offering himself, and Vandeuvres engaged him in the plot at once; only he made him promise to bring Clarisse with him, and when La Faloise pretended to scruple¹⁸⁴ about certain points he quieted him by the remark:"Since I invite you that's enough!"

Nevertheless, La Faloise would have much liked to know the name of the hostess. But the countess had recalled Vandeuvres and was questioning him as to the manner in which the English made tea. He often betook himself to England, where his horses ran. Then as though he had been inwardly following up quite a laborious¹⁸⁵ train of thought during his remarks, he broke in with the question:"And the marquis, by the by? Are we not to see him?"

"Oh, certainly you will! My father made me a formal promise that he would come," replied the countess. "But I'm beginning to be anxious. His duties will have kept him."

Vandeuvres smiled a discreet smile. He, too, seemed to have his doubts as to the exact nature of the Marquis de Chouard's duties. Indeed, he had been thinking of a pretty woman whom the marquis occasionally took into the country with him. Perhaps they could get her too.

In the meantime Fauchery decided that the moment had come in which to risk giving Count Muff his invitation. The evening, in fact, was drawing to a close.

"Are you serious?" asked Vandeuvres, who thought a joke was intended.

"Extremely serious. If I don't execute my commission she'll tear my eyes out. It's a case of landing her fish, you know."

"Well then, I'll help you, dear boy."

Eleven o'clock struck. Assisted by her daughter, the countess was pouring out the tea, and as hardly any guests save intimate friends had come, the cups and the platefuls of little cakes were being circulated without ceremony. Even the ladies did not leave their armchairs in front of the fire and sat sipping¹⁸⁶ their tea and nibbling¹⁸⁷ cakes which they held between their finger tips. From music the talk had declined to purveyors. Boissier was the only person for sweetmeats and Catherine for ices. Mme Chantereau, however, was all for Latinville. Speech grew more and more indolent, and a sense of lassitude was lulling¹⁸⁸ the room to sleep. Steiner had once more set himself secretly to undermine the deputy, whom he held in a state of blockade in the corner of a settee. M. Venot, whose teeth must have been ruined by sweet things, was eating little dry cakes, one after the other, with a small nibbling sound suggestive of a mouse, while the chief clerk, his nose in a teacup, seemed never to be going to finish its contents. As to the countess, she went in a leisurely¹⁸⁹ way from one guest to another, never pressing them, indeed, only pausing a second or two before the gentlemen whom she viewed with an air of dumb interrogation before she smiled and passed on. The great fire had flushed all her face, and she looked as if she were the sister of her daughter, who appeared so withered¹⁹⁰ and ungainly at her side. When she drew near Fauchery, who was chatting with her husband and Vandeuvres, she noticed that they grew suddenly silent; accordingly she did not stop but handed the cup of tea she was offering to Georges Hugon beyond them.

"It's a lady who desires your company at supper," the journalist gaily¹⁹¹ continued, addressing Count Muffat.

The last-named, whose face had worn its gray look all the evening, seemed very much surprised. What lady was it?

"Oh, Nana!" said Vandeuvres, by way of forcing the invitation.

The count became more grave than before. His eyelids¹⁹² trembled just perceptibly, while a look of discomfort¹⁹³, such as headache produces, hovered¹⁹⁴ for a moment athwart his forehead.

"But I'm not acquainted with that lady," he murmured.

"Come, come, you went to her house," remarked Vandeuvres.

"What d'you say? I went to her house? Oh yes, the other day, in behalf of the Benevolent¹⁹⁵ Organization. I had forgotten about it. But, no matter, I am not acquainted with her, and I cannot accept."

He had adopted an icy expression in order to make them understand that this jest did not appear to him to be in good taste. A man of his position did not sit down at tables of such women as that. Vandeuvres protested: it was to be a supper party of dramatic and artistic¹⁹⁶ people, and talent excused everything. But without listening further to the arguments urged by Fauchery, who spoke of a dinner where the Prince of Scots, the son of a queen, had sat down beside an ex-music-hall singer, the count only emphasized his refusal. In so doing, he allowed himself, despite his great politeness, to be guilty of an irritated gesture.

Georges and La Faloise, standing in front of each other drinking their tea, had overheard the two or three phrases exchanged in their immediate¹⁹⁷ neighborhood.

"Jove, it's at Nana's then," murmured La Faloise. "I might have expected as much!"

Georges said nothing, but he was all aflame. His fair hair was in disorder¹⁹⁸; his blue eyes shone like tapers¹⁹⁹, so fiercely had the vice¹⁷⁶, which for some days past had surrounded him, inflamed²⁰⁰ and stirred his blood. At last he was going to plunge¹⁶⁹ into all that he had dreamed of!

"I don't know the address," La Faloise resumed.

"She lives on a third floor in the Boulevard Haussmann, between the Rue de l'Arcade and the Rue Pesquier," said Georges all in a breath.

And when the other looked at him in much astonishment, he added, turning very red and fit to sink into the ground with embarrassment²⁰¹ and conceit²⁰²:

"I'm of the party. She invited me this morning."

But there was a great stir in the drawing room, and Vandeuvres and Fauchery could not continue pressing the count. The Marquis de Chouard had just come in, and everyone was anxious to greet him. He had moved painfully forward, his legs failing under him, and he now stood in the middle of the room with pallid²⁰³ face and eyes blinking, as though he had just come out of some dark alley²⁰⁴ and were blinded by the brightness of the lamps.

"I scarcely hoped to see you tonight, Father," said the countess. "I should have been anxious till the morning."

He looked at her without answering, as a man might who fails to understand. His nose, which loomed²⁰⁵ immense on his shorn face, looked like a swollen²⁰⁶ pimple²⁰⁷, while his lower lip hung down. Seeing him such a wreck²⁰⁸, Mme Hugon, full of kind compassion²⁰⁹, said pitying things to him.

"You work too hard. You ought to rest yourself. At our age we ought to leave work to the young people."

"Work! Ah yes, to be sure, work!" he stammered at last. "Always plenty of work."

He began to pull himself together, straightening up his bent figure and passing his hand, as was his wont, over his scant²¹⁰ gray hair, of which a few locks strayed behind his ears.

"At what are you working as late as this?" asked Mme du Joncquoy. "I thought you were at the financial minister's reception?"

But the countess intervened with:"My father had to study the question of a projected law."

"Yes, a projected law," he said; "exactly so, a projected law. I shut myself up for that reason. It refers to work in factories, and I was anxious for a proper observance of the Lord's day of rest. It is really shameful²¹¹ that the government is unwilling²¹² to act with vigor in the matter. Churches are growing empty; we are running headlong to ruin."

Vandeuvres had exchanged glances with Fauchery. They both happened to be behind the marquis, and they were scanning him suspiciously.When Vandeuvres found an opportunity to take him aside and to speak to him about the good-looking creature he was in the habit of taking down into the country, the old man affected²¹³ extreme surprise. Perhaps someone had seen him with the Baroness Decker, at whose house at Viroflay he sometimes spent a day or so. Vandeuvres's sole vengeance²¹⁴ was an abrupt⁵⁵ question:"Tell me, where have you been straying to? Your elbow is covered with cobwebs and plaster."

"My elbow," he muttered, slightly disturbed. "Yes indeed, it's true. A speck²¹⁵ or two, I must have come in for them on my way down from my office."

Several people were taking their departure. It was close on midnight. Two footmen were noiselessly removing the empty cups and the plates with cakes. In front of the hearth the ladies had re-formed and, at the same time, narrowed their circle and were chatting more carelessly than before in the languid atmosphere peculiar to the close of a party. The very room was going to sleep, and slowly creeping shadows were cast by its walls. It was then Fauchery spoke of departure. Yet he once more forgot his intention at sight of the Countess Sabine. She was resting from her cares as hostess, and as she sat in her wonted seat, silent, her eyes fixed²¹⁶ on a log which was turning into embers, her face appeared so white and so impassable that doubt again possessed him. In the glow of the fire the small black hairs on the mole at the corner of her lip became white. It was Nana's very mole, down to the color of the hair. He could not refrain from whispering something about it in Vandeuvres's ear. Gad, it was true; the other had never noticed it before. And both men continued this comparison of Nana and the countess. They discovered a vague resemblance about the chin and the mouth, but the eyes were not at all alike. Then, too, Nana had a good-natured expression, while with the countess it was hard to decide--she might have been a cat, sleeping with claws withdrawn²¹⁷ and paws stirred by a scarce-perceptible nervous quiver.

"All the same, one could have her," declared Fauchery.

Vandeuvres stripped her at a glance.

"Yes, one could, all the same," he said. "But I think nothing of the thighs²¹⁸, you know. Will you bet she has no thighs?"

He stopped, for Fauchery touched him briskly on the arm and showed him Estelle, sitting close to them on her footstool. They had raised their voices without noticing her, and she must have overheard them. Nevertheless, she continued sitting there stiff and motionless, not a hair having lifted on her thin neck, which was that of a girl who has shot up all too quickly. Thereupon they retired three or four paces, and Vandeuvres vowed²¹⁹ that the countess was a very honest woman. Just then voices were raised in front of the hearth. Mme du Joncquoy was saying:"I was willing to grant you that Monsieur de Bismarck was perhaps a witty man. Only, if you go as far as to talk of genius--"

The ladies had come round again to their earliest topic of conversation.

"What the deuce! Still Monsieur de Bismarck!" muttered Fauchery. "This time I make my escape for good and all."

"Wait a bit," said Vandeuvres, "we must have a definite no from the count."

The Count Muffat was talking to his father-in-law and a certain serious-looking gentleman. Vandeuvres drew him away and renewed the invitation, backing it up with the information that he was to be at the supper himself. A man might go anywhere; no one could think of suspecting evil where at most there could only be curiosity. The count listened to these arguments with downcast eyes and expressionless face. Vandeuvres felt him to be hesitating when the Marquis de Chouard approached with a look of interrogation. And when the latter was informed of the question in hand and Fauchery had invited him in his turn, he looked at his son-in-law furtively²²⁰. There ensued an embarrassed silence, but both men encouraged one another and would doubtless have ended by accepting had not Count Muffat perceived M. Venot's gaze fixed upon him. The little old man was no longer smiling; his face was cadaverous, his eyes bright and keen as steel.

'No," replied the count directly, in so decisive a tone that further insistence²²¹ became impossible.

Then the marquis refused with even greater severity of expression. He talked morality. The aristocratic classes ought to set a good example. Fauchery smiled and shook hands with Vandeuvres. He did not wait for him and took his departure immediately, for he was due at his newspaper office.

"At Nana's at midnight, eh?"

La Faloise retired too. Steiner had made his bow to the countess. Other men followed them, and the same phrase went round--"At midnight, at Nana's"--as they went to get their overcoats in the anteroom. Georges, who could not leave without his mother, had stationed himself at the door, where he gave the exact address. "Third floor, door on your left." Yet before going out Fauchery gave a final glance. Vandeuvres had again resumed his position among the ladies and was laughing with Leonide de Chezelles. Count Muffat and the Marquis de Chouard were joining in the conversation, while the good Mme Hugon was falling asleep open-eyed. Lost among the petticoats, M. Venot was his own small self again and smiled as of old. Twelve struck slowly in the great solemn room.

"What--what do you mean?" Mme du Joncquoy resumed. "You imagine that Monsieur de Bismarck will make war on us and beat us! Oh, that's unbearable²²²!"

Indeed, they were laughing round Mme Chantereau, who had just repeated an assertion she had heard made in Alsace, where her husband owned a foundry.

"We have the emperor, fortunately," said Count Muffat in his grave, official way.

It was the last phrase Fauchery was able to catch. He closed the door after casting one more glance in the direction of the Countess Sabine. She was talking sedately²²³ with the chief clerk and seemed to be interested in that stout individual's conversation. Assuredly he must have been deceiving himself. There was no "little rift" there at all. It was a pity.

"You're not coming down then?" La Faloise shouted up to him from the entrance hall.

And out on the pavement, as they separated, they once more repeated:

"Tomorrow, at Nana's."

人们习惯于把缪法·德·伯维尔夫人称之为萨比娜伯爵夫人，以免与前一年谢世的伯爵母亲的称谓相混淆。萨比娜伯爵夫人每逢星期二都在她的公馆里接待客人，公馆坐落在米罗梅斯尼尔街，就在庞蒂埃夫街的拐弯处。这是一座方形大建筑，缪法家已经在此住了一百余年了。房子的正面临街，又高又黑，毫无生机，阴森得像座修道院，高大的百叶窗，几乎总是关得严严的；屋子的后边，有一个土壤湿润的花园，花园的一端，长着几株树，树长得又高又细，仿佛在寻找阳光，枝桠高出了石板瓦屋顶。

本周星期二，已经临近晚上十点钟了，客厅里才来了十来个客人。倘若来的客人都是亲密好友，她就既不开小客厅，也不开餐厅。这样，大家显得更亲密一些，还可以围着火炉聊天。客厅又大又高，有四扇窗户朝向花园，现在已是四月底了，天气多雨，虽然壁炉里燃着大块劈材，大家仍然感到花园里有一股湿气袭来；白天，淡绿色的光线把房间里照得若明若暗；但是，到了夜晚，台灯和吊灯都点亮后，这间客厅里却显出一派庄严气氛，陈设有拿破仑时代式样的笨重桃花心木家具，有黄丝绒的帷幔和椅套，上面印着光滑如缎的大图案。进了这间客厅，仿佛置身于冷冰冰的庄严气氛中，置身于古老的习俗之中，置身于一个流逝了的散发着虔诚宗教气息的时代之中。

壁炉的一边，有一张方形扶手椅，木质坚硬，椅罩布面粗糙，伯爵的母亲就是坐在这张椅子上去世的。在壁炉的另一边，也就是那张扶手椅的对面，萨比娜伯爵夫人坐在一张深座椅子上，椅垫是红绸做的，柔软得像鸭绒。这是客厅里唯一的现代家具，在严肃的气氛中，摆着这样一件新奇的东西，显得很不协调。

“这么说来，”年轻的伯爵夫人说道，“波斯沙赫①要到我们这里来喽……”

①波斯（或伊朗）国王的称谓。

她们谈论那些要来巴黎参观万国博览会的王公贵族。好几位太太围着壁炉坐着。杜·荣古瓦太太有个兄弟是外交官，已经完成出使东方任务归来，现在由她来介绍纳札尔·埃丹宫廷的详细情况。

“你不舒服吗，亲爱的？”尚特罗太太看见伯爵夫人打了一个哆嗦，脸色发白，问道。她是一个冶金作坊主的妻子。

“不，一点也不，”伯爵夫人笑着回答道，“我身上有点冷……这间客厅生火后，要好长时间才能热起来！”

她用忧郁的目光望着墙壁，一直望到天花板。她的女儿爱丝泰勒，芳龄十八，已到青春期，身材颀长，毫不引人注目，她从圆凳上站起来，悄然走来把一块滚落的劈柴扶起来。可是萨比娜在修道院时的女友、比她小五岁的德·谢泽勒太太大声说道：

“啊！我倒想有你这样一间大客厅！至少，你可以用它来接待客人……如今，造的房子全像盒子……如果我是你的话……”

她说话冒冒失失，手舞足蹈。她说如果是她的客厅，她就要把帷幔、椅子和其它东西统统换成新的，然后举行舞会，让全巴黎的人都来参加。她的丈夫呆在她的后面，一本正经地听她说话，他是一名行政官员。据说，她偷人不瞒丈夫；但是大家都原谅她，依然接待她，因为听说她神经有些不正常。

“这个莱奥妮德！”萨比娜伯爵夫人只嘟哝了一句，脸上露出淡淡一笑。

她做了一个懒洋洋的手势，以补充她所没有说出的想法。当然罗，要改变客厅的样子，也不会在这里住了十七年才来改变，现在，她要让客厅保持她婆婆在世时所要求保留的样子。

随后，她又回到原来的话题上：

“人家还告诉我，普鲁士国王和俄国皇帝肯定也要来哩。”

“对，已经宣布还要举行盛大庆祝活动哩。”杜·荣古瓦太太说道。

银行家斯泰内是刚刚由熟悉全巴黎社交界人士的莱奥妮德·德·谢泽勒带来的，他坐在两扇窗户中间的一张长沙发上，正在与人谈话呢；他正向一个众议员提问题，他很想从他的口中，巧妙地套出一些有关交易所的消息，斯泰内已觉察到交易所的一些动向了。缪法伯爵站立在他们前面，一声不吭，听他们两人谈话，脸色比平常还灰白。门边有四五个年轻人聚集在一起，围着格扎维埃·德·旺德夫尔伯爵，他正在低声向他们讲故事。这则故事的内容大概很下流，因为几个年轻人低声笑个不停。在屋子的中央，一个胖男人独自一人沉沉地坐在一张扶手椅上，睁着眼睛在打盹，他是内务部办公室主任。不过，其中一个青年对这个故事显得有些怀疑，旺德夫尔提高嗓门说道：

“你是个十足的怀疑派，富卡蒙；这样，你就破坏了你的乐趣。”

他讲完便笑眯眯地走到太太们这边来。旺德夫尔是一家名门望族的末代子孙，气质像是女性，聪明而又诙谐，他挥金如土，坐食祖宗留下来的遗产，贪婪的欲望无法抑制。他饲养的赛马，算得上巴黎最有名的赛马，这项花费高得惊人；他每月在帝国俱乐部赌输的钱也令人震惊；他的情妇们不管年成好坏，每年要吃掉他一个农庄、数公顷土地或森林，挥霍掉他在庇卡底的大批产业的一部分。

“我劝你索性把其他人也都称作怀疑派吧，而你自己就什么也不相信，”莱奥妮德说道，一边在自己旁边让点地方给他，“是你破坏了自己的乐趣。”

“你说得一点不错，”他回答道，“我正是要让别人吸取我的经验教训。”

这时，大伙不让他再说下去，因为他惹怒了韦诺先生。这时，太太们坐得散开了一点，大家透过空隙看见一个年届花甲的小老头坐在一张长椅的一端，他露出一口坏牙齿，脸上堆满狡黠的微笑。他呆在那儿就像在家里一样，一声不吭，听着大家讲话。他摆摆手，说他并没有生气。于是，旺德夫尔又神气起来，一本正经地继续说道：

“韦诺先生很了解我，我只相信应该相信的东西。”

他这是表明自己信仰宗教。莱奥妮德听了似乎很满意。坐在客厅后面的那些年轻人不再笑了，客厅里的人都露出一本正经的样子，没有什么可好笑的。一阵冷风吹过，在一片寂静中，只听见斯泰内的带鼻音的说话声，参议员说话很谨慎，终于使斯泰内大为恼火。萨比娜伯爵夫人瞅了一会儿炉火，接着，她又继续说道：

“去年我在巴登看见普鲁士国王。在他这样的年龄，精力还算挺好的。”

“俾斯麦伯爵将陪同他一道来，”杜·荣古瓦太太说，“你们认识俾斯麦伯爵吗？在我兄弟家里，我与他共进过午餐。哦！那是很久以前的事了，那时他才是普鲁士驻法国的大使……

这样一个人，最近居然连连取得成功，我真莫名其妙。”

“为什么？”尚特罗太太问道。

“老天爷！叫我怎么对你说呢……我不喜欢这个人，他样子粗鲁，又缺乏教养。而且，我觉得他有些愚蠢。”

于是，大家都谈论起俾斯麦伯爵来。对俾斯麦的看法，众说纷纭。旺德夫尔认识他，并说他酒量很大，赌技出色。可是，到了争论最激烈的时候，门开了，埃克托尔·德·拉法卢瓦兹进来了。福什利跟在他后边，他走到伯爵夫人面前，鞠了个躬，说道：

“夫人，对您的美好邀请，我时刻铭记在心……”

伯爵夫人莞尔一笑，说了句客套话。新闻记者行礼后，在客厅中间愣了一会儿，他觉得人地生疏，客人中他只认识斯泰内。旺德夫尔转过身子，走过来跟他握手。遇到旺德夫尔，福什利顿时高兴起来，他想跟他说句内心话，便把他拉到一边，悄悄说道：

“就定在明天，你也去吗？”

“当然罗！”

“夜里十二点到她家里。”

“我知道，我知道……我与布朗瑟一起去。”

他想离开福什利，回到太太们那儿去，提出一个新的证据，为俾斯麦辩护，但福什利把他拉住了。

“你绝对猜不到她托我邀请谁到她家里去。”

接着，他将头向着缪法伯爵微微一指，这时伯爵正在与参议员和斯泰内讨论国民预算上的一个问题。

“不可能！”旺德夫尔惊喜交集地说。

“我敢发誓！我还不得不向她保证把斯泰内带到哩。这也是我来这里的目的之一。”

说到这里，两个人都暗暗地笑了，而旺德夫尔又匆匆忙忙跑到太太们圈子里来，他大声嚷道：

“我可以肯定，恰恰相反，俾斯麦先生是非常风趣的人……比如说吧，一天晚上，他在我面前说了一句逗人的话……”

他俩讲话很快，你一言我一语，声音很低，但都被拉法卢瓦兹听见了，他注视着福什利，希望他过来解释一下，但福什利始终没过来。他们说的是谁呢？明天半夜他们要干什么呢？于是，他再也不离开他的表哥。福什利走过去坐下来。使他特别感兴趣的是萨比娜伯爵夫人。过去时常有人在他面前提到她的名字，她是十七岁结婚的，现在大概三十四岁了，婚后过着与世隔绝的生活，整天见到的人只有丈夫和婆婆。在上流社会里，有人说她冷若冰霜，像个虔诚的教徒，也有人很同情她，说她在嫁到这座深宅老院前，笑声朗朗，目光炯炯有神。福什利一边凝视着她，一边思量着一件事。他有一个朋友，最近在墨西哥战死，死时是上尉，就在他出发前夕，同福什利一起吃饭，饭后，他无意中向福什利吐露了一段隐情，这种隐情，即便是最谨慎的男人，在某些时候，也是会泄露出来的。不过，这事在福什利的回忆中已变得模糊了；那天晚上，他们吃了一顿丰盛的晚餐。现在，他看见伯爵夫人坐在古色古香的客厅的中央，身着黑色衣服，安详地微笑着，心里起了疑团。她身后有一盏灯，把她那丰腴、微黑的面孔侧面照得轮廓分明，脸上只有嘴唇有点厚，露出一种急切的情欲要求。

“他们老谈俾斯麦，有什么用！”拉法卢瓦兹嘀咕道，他装出一副在社交场合中露出的那种无聊的神态，“在这儿，真要命。你的想法真古怪，偏要到这里来。”

福什利忽然问他道：

“喂！伯爵夫人不跟任何人睡觉吗？”

“啊！不，啊！不，亲爱的，”他结结巴巴说道，显得不知所措，忘记做出装腔作势的样子，“你也不看看这儿是什么地方！”

随后，他意识到自己这样生气有失风度，便往长沙发里一躺，补充说道：

“当然罗！我说没有，但是我知道的情况也不多……那边有个小家伙，名叫富卡蒙，到处都能见到他，也许他知道的比我多。比这更加不堪入耳的事，肯定也有人见过。我吗，这种事是不管的……总之，如果伯爵夫人真的以不端行为来消愁解闷，她就够机灵了，因为这件事没有张扬出去，也没有人谈到过。”

还没等到福什利开口问他，拉法卢瓦兹就把自己所知道的缪法家的事告诉他。太太们继续围着壁炉交谈着，他们两个人压低了嗓门说话；倘若她们看见他俩打着领带，戴着白手套呆在那里，她们还以为他俩在一本正经地讨论什么严肃的问题呢。拉法卢瓦兹很熟悉缪法伯爵的母亲，她是个令人难以容忍的风骚老太婆，总是呆在神甫们家里；另外，只要她摆摆架子，做一个权威性的手势就能使任何人在她面前屈服。至于缪法，他是被拿破仑一世封为伯爵的一位将军晚年所生之子，所以十二月二日①以后，他自然得宠了。他也是一个郁郁寡欢的人，但他却以诚实、正直著称。除此之外，他还有一些古老陈腐的观念，对他在宫廷里所担任的职务，他的尊严和德行都认为了不起，把头仰得高高的，俨然是个圣人。是缪法老太给他以良好的教育：他每天必须做忏悔，不许逃学，不许犯青年人易犯的过失。他参加宗教仪式，他有一种多血质型的强烈的宗教狂热，发作时就像热病一样。最后，为了用最后一个细节来描绘他，拉法卢瓦兹贴着他的耳朵说了一句话。

①一八四八年二月法国爆发革命后，拿破仑三世从英格兰回到法国。他的一些支持者组织政党，推选他为制宪议会议员，同年十二月他当选总统。

“这不可能！”表兄说道。

“人家还向我赌咒发誓，说是千真万确的……他结婚的时候，还有这种事哩。”

福什利笑着，一边瞧着伯爵。伯爵的脸上留着络腮胡子，上唇上却不留小胡子，脸显得更方了，这时，他把次数都报给了斯泰内，神态很冷漠，斯泰内在竭力反驳他的话。

“说真的，他的长相很像是这样的人，”他喃喃说道，“这算得上他送给他的老婆的一件漂亮礼物！……啊！可怜的小娘们儿，他一定让她厌烦够了！我敢打赌，她到现在还蒙在鼓里哩！”

就在这当儿，萨比娜伯爵夫人跟他讲话。他没听见，因为他觉得缪法的事是那么有趣，那么不寻常。她又问一遍：

“福什利先生，你不是发表过一篇描写俾斯麦先生的文章吗？……你同他谈过话吗？”

他赶紧站起来，走到夫人们那边，竭力使自己平静一下，悠然自得地找到了一句答话：

“我的天！夫人，我坦率告诉你，我那篇文章是根据德国出版的一些传记本写的……我不曾见过俾斯麦先生。”

他呆在伯爵夫人的身边。他一边和她谈话，一边继续思索着。她的外貌比她的实际年龄小，要让别人说，不超过二十八岁，尤其是她的一双眼睛，还保持着青春的光焰，长长的睫毛在眸子里投下了蓝色的影子。她是在一个夫妻不睦而分居的家庭里长大的，她跟舒阿尔侯爵生活过一个月，又跟侯爵夫人生活过一个月，她母亲死后，年纪轻轻就结了婚，这也许是她的父亲促成的，因为她在他的身边碍事。侯爵是个可怕的人，尽管他很虔诚，但是关于他的一些风流韵事已在外边开始流传！福什利思量他今晚是否有幸会见侯爵。她的父亲肯定会来的，不过，很迟才会来；因为他很忙。这位新闻记者知道这个老头子晚上在什么地方消磨时光，却装出一副严肃的神态。他吃了一惊，发现伯爵夫人脸上有一颗痣，长在左面颊上，靠近嘴边。娜娜的脸上恰恰也有一颗。这真奇怪。痣上还长着鬈曲的汗毛。只不过娜娜痣上的毛是金色的，而伯爵夫人痣上的毛像黑玉一般黑。这倒没关系，这个女人与娜娜不一样，她不跟任何男人睡觉。

“我一直想认识一下奥古斯塔王后，”伯爵夫人说，“有人说她为人很好，又很虔诚……你认为她会陪同普鲁士国王一起来吗？”

“我想不会的，夫人。”他回答道。

她不跟任何男人睡觉，可以看得出来。只要看看坐在她旁边圆凳子上的女儿，看看她那副毫不出色、拘拘束束的样子就知道了。这间阴森森的客厅，散发出一股教堂般的气息，这就足以说明她是一直屈服于什么样的铁腕人物，过着怎样的刻板生活。在这座阴暗而又潮湿的古老住宅里，没有任何陈设是她亲自安排的，一切都由缪法作主，用他虔诚的教育、他的忏悔和斋戒统治着这里。可是，福什利突然发现一个矮老头儿，满嘴坏牙齿，脸上堆满狡黠的微笑，他坐在太太们身后的一张扶手椅上，这一发现向他提供了一个更有说服力的论据。他认识这个人物，他是泰奥菲尔·韦诺，曾经当过诉讼代理人，专门办理教会的诉讼案件，退休时拥有一大笔财产，过着一种相当神秘的生活，不管到哪里，都有人接待他，人人对他毕恭毕敬。他甚至有点令人生畏，仿佛他代表着一种强大的力量，那是一种别人感觉得出来的隐藏在他背后的神秘力量。另外，他还表现得非常谦逊，他是圣玛德莱娜教堂的财产管理委员，据他说，他怕闲得无事做，才接受了第九区副区长的职务。活见鬼！伯爵夫人被团团围住了，谁也别想打她的主意。

“你说得对，这里真叫人受不了，”福什利对他的表弟说，他已从夫人们的圈子里走出来，“我们走吧。”

缪法伯爵和参议员刚刚离开了斯泰内，这时斯泰内气乎乎地走来，他满头是汗，低声嘟哝道：

“他妈的！他们什么也不肯说，那么，他们就不说呗……我会找别人跟我说的。”

说完，他把新闻记者拉到一个角落里，换了语气，高兴地说道：

“喂！那就明天吧……我也算一个，老朋友！”

“哦！”福什利感到蹊跷，低声应道。

“你还不知道吧……啊！我好不容易才在她家里找到她！为了这件事，米尼翁还拚命盯住我哩！”

“可是米尼翁夫妇也要去呀！”

“对，她告诉我了……总之，她接见了我，她也邀请了我……午夜十二点整，剧院散场后。”

银行家脸上喜气洋洋。他眨眨眼睛，又补上一句，故意把每个字说得带上特别含义：

“这下你可得手了吧！”

“你说什么？”福什利说道，他装作不懂他的话的意思，“她是为了感谢我的那篇为她捧场的文章，才到我家里来的。”

“是的，是的……你们都有福气，人家总是要酬谢的……对啦，明天谁做东道？”

新闻记者把两只胳膊一伸，意思是说这个他从来没有听人说过。这时旺德夫尔呼唤斯泰内，因为他认识俾斯麦先生。

杜·荣古瓦太太这时几乎服气了，她得出这样的结论：

“我对他的印象很坏，我觉得他有一副凶相，……不过我承认他很聪明，所以他才取得那么多成就。”

“也许是这样，”银行家淡淡一笑，说道，“他是法兰克福的一个犹太人。”

这时候，拉法卢瓦兹壮着胆量诘问他的表兄，他紧紧跟着他，搂着他的脖子：

“明天晚上在一个女人家吃夜宵吗？在谁家里，嗯？究竟在谁家里？”

福什利做了一个手势，暗示有人听见他们讲话，要他注意点。这时，客厅的门又打开了，进来一位老太太，身后边跟着一个小伙子，从他身上，新闻记者认出他就是那个逃学的中学生，在演《金发爱神》的那天晚上，他大喊了一声“妙极啦！”，至今人们还传为佳话呢。这位老太太刚到，客厅里顿时热闹起来，萨比娜伯爵夫人连忙站起来，迎上前去，抓住她的双手，称呼她为“我亲爱的于贡太太。”拉法卢瓦兹瞅见他的表兄好奇地注视这一场面，为了感动他，便简略地向他介绍老太太的情况：于贡太太是一个公证人的遗孀，现在隐居在她家的老庄园丰垡特，庄园离奥尔良不远，但她在巴黎还保留一个落脚点，在黎塞留街拥有一座房屋。眼下她正在那儿，要住几个星期，以便把读法科一年级的最小的儿子安排好。她过去是德·舒阿尔侯爵夫人的挚友，亲眼看见伯爵夫人出生，在伯爵夫人结婚之前，她曾经留她在家里住了整整几个月，至今她还用“你”

字称呼她哩。

“我给你把乔治带来了，”于贡太太对萨比娜说，“我相信，他长大了。”

年轻人有一双明澈的眼睛，长着一头金色的鬈发，模样颇像女孩子装扮成的男孩。他大大方方地向伯爵夫人行了礼，还提醒她说，两年前，他们在丰垡特还一起打过一场羽毛球呢。

“菲利普现在不在巴黎吗？”缪法伯爵问道。

“哦！不在，”老太太回答，“他一直驻防在布尔日。”

接着，老太太坐下来，洋洋得意地谈起了他的长子菲利普。她说他是一个身强力壮的男子汉，出于一时兴致，入了伍，进步很快，不久前被晋升为中尉。她周围的太太们都用敬佩、赞赏的神色打量着她。大家又继续谈话，不过谈话变得更亲切，更高雅了。福什利看见令人尊敬的于贡太太坐在那里，她两鬓染霜，慈祥的脸上浮现着和善的微笑，觉得自己刚才怀疑萨比娜伯爵夫人的行为不端未免可笑了。

然而，伯爵夫人坐的那张红绸软垫椅子，刚才引起了他的注意。他觉得在这间雾气腾腾的客厅内，这张椅子显得很不入眼，而且扰乱人的思绪，使人想入非非。可以肯定，这件给人以安逸淫乐之感的家具不是伯爵添置的。也许可以说，这是一种尝试，是欲望和享乐的开始。这时他竟忘记自己在什么地方，陷入了沉思，回忆起那天晚上，在一家饭店的小客厅里，他的上尉朋友给他吐露的那段隐情。他早就希望到缪法家里来，是因为他受到这种色情的好奇心的驱使。既然他的朋友已经长眠于墨西哥，谁会知道呢？等着瞧吧。他到这里来也许是干了一件蠢事，不过，这个愿望一直缠住他，他意识到自己着了迷了，恶习在他身上又死灰复燃了。现在，他看见那张大椅子垫面旧得起皱，椅背向后仰得很厉害，他觉得挺有趣的。

“怎么样，我们走吧？”拉法卢瓦兹问道，他打算出了门，就要问清楚到哪个女人家去吃夜宵。

“等会再走吧。”福什利回答。

他不急于马上就走，借口说人家托他邀请一个客人，现在提出来还不合适。太太们这时正在谈论修女入会的事，仪式很动人，三天来巴黎上流社会人士都为之感动。她们说的是德·福日雷男爵夫人的长女，受了不可违抗的神召，不久前入了加尔默罗会①当修女。尚特罗太太与福日雷家有点表亲关系，据她说，男爵夫人伤心得泣不成声，举行仪式后的第二天便卧床不起了。

①又名圣衣会，是中世纪天主教四大托钵修会之一。

“我当时观看的位置很好，”莱奥妮德说，“我觉得这情景很稀奇。”

然而，于贡太太怜悯那位可怜的母亲，这样失去她的女儿，该是多么痛心啊！

“有人指责我太虔诚，”她安详而又坦率地说道，“尽管这样，孩子们这样固执地去自杀，我还是觉得太残酷了。”

“对呀！这是件可怕的事，”伯爵夫人悄声说道，微微打了一个寒噤，把身子往对着火炉的那张大椅子里缩了缩。

这时，太太们还在谈论着。但是她们的声音放低了，不时发出轻轻的笑声打断她们严肃的谈话。壁炉上的两盏灯，罩着粉红色的灯罩，发出微弱的光线，把她们照亮；在远一点的几件家具上，只有三盏灯，宽敞的客厅沉浸在暗淡而柔和的光线里。

斯泰内觉得有些无聊，便向福什利讲了娇小的德·谢泽勒太太的一件风流韵事，通常他只叫她的名字莱奥妮德，而且他就站在太太们的椅子后边，压低了声音，叫她“臭娘们儿”。福什利瞧瞧她，她穿一件宽松的浅蓝缎料连衣裙，古怪地坐在扶手椅的一个边角上，她很瘦削，性格放肆，像个男孩，最后福什利竟然觉得很奇怪，为什么在这里看到她呢。客人们在卡罗利娜·埃凯家里，举止就文雅一些，因为卡罗利娜的母亲治家很严厉。这方面的题材足以写篇文章，巴黎的上流社会真是一个无奇不有的世界！连最古板的客厅也会高朋满座。泰奥菲尔·韦诺呆在那儿只笑不吭声，露出满口坏牙齿，显然他是已故老伯爵夫人遗留下来的客人，客人中还有几位上了年纪的太太，如尚特罗太太，杜·荣古瓦太太，四五个呆在几个角落里一动不动的老头子。缪法伯爵带来的客人，都是衣冠楚楚的官员，这种穿戴是杜伊勒里宫的人所喜爱的，比如其中的内务部办公室主任，总是一个人呆在客厅的中间，胡子刮得光光的，双目无神，衣服紧紧裹在身上，简直不能动弹一下。几乎所有的年轻客人和几个举止高雅的人都是舒阿尔侯爵引荐来的，侯爵在归附并进入行政法院后，与正统派仍然保持着联系。剩下来的就是莱奥妮德·德·谢泽勒和斯泰内等几个形迹可疑的人，他们同安详、和蔼可亲的于贡老太太形成鲜明对照。于是，福什利的文章构思好了，题目叫做《萨比娜伯爵夫人的客厅》。

“还有一次，”斯泰内悄悄说道，“莱奥妮德把她的男高音歌手叫到蒙托邦①，她自己住在两法里外的博尔科的别墅里，她每天乘坐一辆两匹马拉的敞篷马车，到他下榻的金狮旅馆去看他，她在旅馆门前下车……车子停在那里等她，莱奥妮德一呆就是几个小时，一些人聚集在那儿观看那两匹马。”

①蒙托邦，法国塔尔纳—加龙省省会，位于巴黎以南六百三十公里处。

大家又沉默下来，在高高的天花板下面，这间客厅里出现了片刻的肃穆气氛。两个年轻人在窃窃私语，但随即又住了口，这时只听见缪法伯爵在客厅里轻轻踱步的声音，灯光似乎暗淡下来，炉里的火熄灭了，阴森的光线笼罩着这个家族的老朋友们，四十年来，他们都是这样坐在扶手椅上。就是这样，在大家的交谈中，客人们仿佛感到已故的伯爵的母亲来到了她们中间，她依然带着一副高傲、冷漠的神态。这时，萨比娜伯爵夫人又开腔了：

“总之，流言蜚语不胚而走……那个小伙子大概是死了，这也许是说明这个可怜的女孩子进修道院的原因。另外，有人说福日雷先生从来未同意过这桩婚事。”

“外面传说的事情还多哩。”莱奥妮德冒失地大声说道。

接着，她笑起来，不愿讲出那些传闻。萨比娜也被她逗乐了，连忙用手绢掩嘴笑起来。在这间宽敞、庄严的客厅里，这笑声使福什利感到吃惊，笑声犹如水晶玻璃破碎时发出的声音。显然，裂痕就从这里开始。这时，她们每个人都开腔了，杜·荣古瓦太太提出不同看法，尚特罗太太知道他们原来打算成亲的，但是，后来婚事始终没办。男人们也大胆发表了自己的意见。在好几分钟内，众说纷纭。客厅内有各种各样的人物，有的是拿破仑派，有的是正统派，还有的是世俗怀疑派，他们统统混在一起，他们一起讲话，各抒己见。爱丝泰勒按了电铃，叫人拿些劈柴来，添在壁炉里，仆人把每盏灯的灯芯挑高一些，客厅仿佛从沉睡中醒来。福什利微笑着，似乎感到自在了。

“当然罗！她们不能嫁给她们的表兄弟，那么，就嫁给上帝吧，”旺德夫尔嘀咕道。这个问题争论来争论去，他听厌了，便去找福什利，问道：“亲爱的，你见过一个有人爱的女子去当修女的吗？”

他心里烦透了，不等到福什利回答，就轻声说道：“喂，明天我们有多少人？……有米尼翁夫妇，斯泰内，你自己，布朗瑟和我……除此以外，究竟还有谁？”

“我想还有卡罗利娜……西蒙娜，可能还有加加……究竟确切人数有多少，谁也不知道，在这些场合，大家以为来二十人，实际上会来三十人。”

旺德夫尔瞧瞧太太们，突然换了个话题：

“这个杜·荣古瓦太太，十三年前一定很漂亮……那个可怜的爱丝泰勒又变得消瘦了，把她放在床上，倒是一块好床板！”

他停了一会，然后又回到第二天吃夜宵的话题上来：

“令人扫兴的是，在这些场合，老是那么几个女人……应当有几个新鲜货色才好。你想法子搞一个新的来吧……喂！我想起来了！我去请那个胖子帮忙，让他把那天晚上他带到游艺剧院去的那个女人带来。”

他说的胖子就是正在客厅正中间打盹的内务部办公室主任，福什利呆在远处，饶有兴致地听他们交涉。旺德夫尔坐在胖子的身边，胖子保持着一副十分庄重的神态，一会儿，他们似乎在一本正经地讨论一个悬而未决的问题，就是要弄清是什么真正的感情促使那个女孩进修道院当修女的。随后，旺德夫尔伯爵回来了，他说：

“这不可能。他发誓说她是个正派女人。她一定不会答应……但是我敢打赌，我曾经在洛尔饭店里见过她。”

“怎么？你也常去洛尔饭店！”福什利笑着低声说道，“你竟然也敢到这类地方去？……我还以为只有我们这些可怜虫……”

“哎！我的朋友，什么都要见识见识嘛。”

于是他俩冷冷一笑，眸子里闪闪发光，互相详细地谈起殉道者路的洛尔饭店里的饭菜情况。肥胖的洛尔·彼尔德费尔让那些手头拮据的小娘儿们在那里就餐，每人只收三法郎。那可是个偏僻的地方！所有小娘儿们见了洛尔太太都要与她亲吻。这时，萨比娜伯爵夫人偶然听见他们一句谈话，便掉过头来，他们马上向后退了几步，两人互相推推撞撞，高兴得涨红了脸。他们居然没有发现乔治·于贡就在他们旁边，偷听他们谈话，脸色变得绯红，就像一道红潮从耳根一直泛到他那姑娘般的脖子上。这个孩子感到又羞怯又高兴。自从他妈妈把他带到客厅以后，他就在谢泽勒太太的身后转来转去，他认为谢泽勒太太是客厅里唯一漂亮的女人。不过，娜娜比她还漂亮呢！

“昨天晚上，”于贡太太说，“乔治带我去看戏。对啦，游艺剧场我确实已有十年没有进去了。这个孩子挺迷恋音乐……我呢，我对音乐毫无乐趣，可他听音乐是那样开心！……当今，上演的戏真古怪，而且音乐也打动不了我，这我承认。”

“怎么？太太，你不喜欢音乐！”杜·荣古瓦抬头仰望着天空，大声嚷道，“居然还会有人不喜欢音乐！”

她的话博得了大家的喝彩。但是大家对游艺剧院上演的那出戏都避而不谈，善良的于贡太太对这出戏全然不懂；这些妇女很了解这出戏，但她们都只字不提。突然，大家把话头全都转到音乐大师们的身上，她们大谈对大师们的看法，个个对他们都无限景仰，简直到了心醉神迷的地步。杜·荣古瓦太太只喜欢韦伯①的作品，尚特罗太太则喜欢意大利音乐家。这时太太们的声音变得柔和、微弱起来，也许有人会说，在壁炉前边，这声音仿佛是教堂中发出的默祷，是小教堂里发出的低沉的、令人神往的赞美歌。

①韦伯（一七八六～一八二六），德国作曲家，是德国古典音乐过渡到浪漫主义时代的主要人物，被称为德国民族歌剧的先驱。

“喂，”旺德夫尔嘟哝道，一边把福什利带向客厅中央，“我们明天还应该邀请一个女人来，我们要不要问问斯泰内？”

“啊！斯泰内呀！”记者说道，“如果他搞到一个女人，那就是巴黎人都不要的女人。”

旺德夫尔向四下张望，在寻找什么人。

“等一会儿，”他又说道，前几天我碰到富卡蒙与一个迷人的金发女郎在一起，我去跟他说说，让他把她带来。”

随后，他便去叫富卡蒙。他俩很快说了几句话。大概这事发生了麻烦，他俩蹑手蹑脚地走着，跨过女士们的拖到地上的长裙，去找另一个年轻人，他们在一个窗口，与那个年轻人继续谈话。福什利一个人呆着，决定到壁炉那边去，这时杜·荣古瓦太太向大家声称，她一听到韦伯的音乐，眼前马上就浮现出一片景象：湖泊，森林，在浸透露水的田野上的日出。就在这当儿，一只手落在他的肩膀上，一个人在他身后说道：

“你很不友好。”

“什么？”他问道，一边掉过头来，认出那个人是拉法卢瓦兹。

“明天晚上的夜宵……你本来可以叫人告诉我一声，让我也参加。”

福什利刚要解释，旺德夫尔走到他面前，说道：

“那个女人看来不是富卡蒙的朋友，而是那儿一位先生的姘妇……她不能来。真倒霉！……不管怎么说，我已经抓住了富卡蒙。他总得设法把路易丝从王宫剧院里带来。”

“德·旺德夫尔先生，”尚特罗抬高声音问道，“是不是上星期天举行的瓦格纳①音乐会上被人喝了倒彩的那个女人？”

“哦！倒彩喝得可厉害呢。”旺德夫尔走上去恭恭敬敬地回答道。

说完，太太们没有人与他再谈话，他便离开了，继续与记者耳语道：

“我再去拉几个人来……那边几个年轻人肯定认识一些小娘儿们。”

这时候，只见他兴高采烈的样子，微笑着，走到客厅里每个角落，找男人们谈话。他钻到人群中间，同每个人咬耳朵说一句话，又回过头来眨眨眼睛，打个暗号。他那副不慌不忙的神色，像在传递一道口令。他的话传开了，大家都答应赴约；不过，这种热情拉人赴约的悄悄谈话声，被女士们的兴致勃勃的高谈阔论声淹没了。

“行了，别谈你那些德国音乐家了，”尚特罗太太连连说道，“唱歌，快乐，这才是光明……你听见过帕蒂②演唱的《理发师》吗？”

①瓦格纳（一八一三～一八八八），十九世纪后期德国主要作曲家、音乐戏剧家。

②帕蒂（一八四三～一九一九），意大利女歌唱家，出生于马德里，她经常在巴黎歌剧院演唱莫扎特、罗西尼、威尔地创作的歌曲。

“妙极了！”莱奥妮德低声说道，“她平时只在钢琴上弹些轻歌剧曲子。”

萨比娜夫人按了铃。每逢星期二，如果来访客人不多，茶点就摆到这间客厅里来。伯爵夫人一边叫一个男仆收拾小圆桌，一边注视着旺德夫尔。她的嘴角上挂着一丝笑意，露出了洁白的牙齿。伯爵走过她身边时，她问道：

“你究竟在搞什么鬼，德·旺德夫尔伯爵？”

“我搞什么啦，太太？”他镇定自若地回答，“我没搞任何鬼。”

“啊！……我看你忙的那副样子……行啦，你来帮帮我的忙吧。”

她把一本照相簿放到旺德夫尔的手里，请他递到钢琴上面。可是他仍然想出一个办法低声告诉福什利，说他明天要把塔唐·内内也带来，在冬季里，她是胸部袒露得最美丽的女人，还有玛丽亚·布隆，不久前，她在游乐剧院初次登台演出。然而，他每走一步，拉法卢瓦兹都跟着他，等待旺德夫尔的邀请。最后，他等得不耐烦了，只好毛遂自荐。旺德夫尔马上同意邀请他；不过，叫他答应把克拉利瑟也带去；当拉法卢瓦兹装出有点顾虑时，他安慰他，说道：

“既然我邀请你了，还怕什么！”

拉法卢瓦兹很想知道女主人的名字。这时伯爵夫人呼唤旺德夫尔过去，问他英国人沏茶的方法。因为他经常到英国去，他的马还在英国参加过比赛呢。据他说，只有俄国人才会沏茶；于是他就告诉她俄国的沏茶秘诀。随后，他在说话的时候，仿佛心里还在盘算着如何沏茶，他收住话头，转了个话题，问道：

“顺便说一句，侯爵呢？我们今晚大概不会见到他吧？”“会见到他的，我父亲明确答应我他一定来，”伯爵夫人回答道，“我现在担心起来了……他一定有公务在身，走不开。”

旺德夫尔悄悄地笑了，他似乎猜想到德·舒阿尔侯爵在办什么样的公事，他想起侯爵有时把一个漂亮女子带到乡间去。兴许明天他会来吧。

福什利认为现在该是邀请缪法伯爵的时候了，不妨试试看。因为晚上活动已进行一段时间了。

“真的吗？”旺德夫尔问道，他还以为福什利在开玩笑哩。

“当然是真的……如果我完不成这个差使，她会把我的眼睛挖掉的。她迷恋上他了，你知道吧。”

“那么，我就助你一臂之力吧，亲爱的。”

已经到了十一点钟了，伯爵夫人在她女儿的帮助下，才把茶点端来。因为来的都是知交密友，茶杯和盛点心的碟子就很随便地传递下去。太太们不离开自己的扶手椅，坐在火炉前，漫不经心地啜着茶，嚼着指头抓着的点心。话题从音乐一下子又转到供应商身上。卖易溶于口的糖果的只有布瓦西埃，供应冰淇淋的要数卡特琳店的好；而尚特罗夫人却认为拉丁维尔的最好。她们谈话的速度越来越慢，客厅里的人都疲倦了，个个昏昏欲睡。斯泰内把那位众议员拦在一张椭圆形的双人沙发的一端，又开始悄悄对他做工作。韦诺先生大概是过去爱吃甜食，弄坏了牙齿，一口一口地吃着干点心，像老鼠啃东西，发出轻轻的响声；而那个内务部办公室主任，嘴巴不离杯子，没完没了地喝茶。伯爵夫人不慌不忙地走到每个人面前，给客人们送茶点，客人们要不要，听凭自便，她在每个人面前站上几秒钟，用询问的神色瞅瞅客人，然后嫣然一笑，走开了。壁炉里的旺火把她的脸烤得通红，乍看上去像是她女儿的姐姐，她女儿与她相比显得又干瘪又呆板。福什利正在同她的丈夫和旺德夫尔谈话，当她走到他面前时，她发现他们闭口不说了，所以她停都未停，又走过去一点，把那杯茶递给了乔治·于贡。

“想请你们吃夜宵的是位夫人。”新闻记者愉快地对缪法伯爵说道。

缪法伯爵整个晚上脸色灰沉沉的，听了这话，不禁惊讶起来，问道：“是哪个夫人？”

“哎！是娜娜！”旺德夫尔说道，他想让缪法伯爵快点接受邀请。

伯爵变得更严肃起来。只眨了几下眼皮，这时觉得有点不舒服，从额头上看出，似乎偏头痛发作了。

“可是我不认识这位夫人。”他喃喃说道。

“得啦！你还去过她家哩。”旺德夫尔提示他。

“怎么！我到她家里去过！……啊！对啦，有一天，我代表赈济所去的。我记不起来了……去过又算什么，反正我不认识她，我不能接受她的邀请。”

他脸上露出一副冷漠样子，想让他们知道，跟他开这种玩笑毫无意思，像他这样有身份的人是不会到这样的女人家里吃饭的。旺德夫尔大声说：“这是艺术家招待的夜宵，天才人物是原谅一切的。”福什利说，曾经有一次晚餐，苏格兰王子，就是王后的儿子，坐在一个在咖啡歌舞厅里当过歌手的女人旁边。伯爵对他的话压根儿不想再听下去，再三拒绝接受邀请。

虽然他是个很讲礼貌的人，还是露出气乎乎的样子。

乔治和拉法卢瓦兹面对面地站着喝茶，听见了旁边几个人的谈话。

“哦！原来是在娜娜家里，”拉法卢瓦兹低声说道，“我早就应该料到这地方了！”

乔治默不作声，但是他的热情却燃起来了，他的金发飘拂着，他的蓝蓝的眼睛像蜡烛似的闪闪发光。几天来他所陷进去的堕落念头，使他激动，使他心绪不宁。他终于进入他所梦想的境界了！

“可惜我不知道她住在何处。”拉法卢瓦兹又说。

“她住在奥斯曼大街，在拉卡德路与帕基埃之间的一幢楼的第四层楼上。”乔治一口气说出来。

拉法卢瓦兹惊异地瞅瞅他，他满脸绯红，既得意又尴尬，补充说道：

“我也受到了邀请，她是今天早上邀请我的。”

这时，客厅里骚动起来。旺德夫尔和福什利无法继续劝说伯爵了。舒阿尔侯爵进来了，大家都赶紧站起来迎接。侯爵两腿发软，步履维艰地站在客厅中央，面色苍白，两眼一眨一眨，好像刚从光线暗淡的胡同里出来，被刺眼的灯光照得睁不开眼睛。

“我以为您不会来了，爸爸，”伯爵夫人说道，“您若不来，我会担心到明天哩。”

他只是看着她，一句话也不说，样子像没有听懂她的话。他的鼻子很大，在他那胡子刮得光光的脸上，鼻子像肿起来的大疙瘩；而他的下嘴唇下垂着。于贡夫人见他如此疲乏，对他既同情又怜悯，说道：

“您太劳累了。您应该休息……像我们这样的年龄的人，应该把工作让年轻人来干。”

“工作，啊！是的，工作，”侯爵终于结结巴巴说话了，“我总是有很多工作……”

他的精神恢复正常了，驼着的背挺直了，用习惯的动作，把一只手放在白发上捋了捋，那稀疏的几绺鬈发在他的耳后飘拂着。

“您干什么工作，干到这么晚？”杜·荣古瓦太太问道，“我还以为您去出席财政部长举行的招待会了呢。”

伯爵夫人截住道：

“我父亲在研究一项法律草案。”

“对的，是一项法律草案，”他说，“一项法律草案，一点也不错……我一个人关起门来研究，是有关工厂的法律。但愿大家都遵守星期日的休息。政府不愿全力执行这项制度，这种做法确实不够体面。星期日教堂里阒无一人，我们正在走向灾难。”

旺德夫尔瞧瞧福什利。他们两人都待在侯爵的身后，他们闻到他身上有一股气味。旺德夫尔终于找到了机会，把侯爵拉到一边，问他带到乡间去的那个美人儿是谁，老头子装出诧异的样子，可能有人看见他与德克尔男爵夫人在一起，有时他到维罗弗莱去，在她家里住上几天。旺德夫尔对他搞突然袭击，这是他唯一的报复办法：

“告诉我吧，您到哪儿去啦？您的臂肘上满是蜘蛛网和石灰。”

“我臂肘上，”他神色慌张，支吾道，“哦！确实是这样……有点脏……大概是我从家里下楼时弄脏的。”

有好几个人告辞了。时间已近午夜。两个仆人不声不响地把空茶杯和盛糕点的碟子端走，太太们在壁炉前面又围成一圈，但圈子缩小了，晚会快结束时，在无精打采的气氛中，她们谈得更随便了。连客厅仿佛也昏昏欲睡了，一道道阴影从墙上慢慢投射下来。于是，福什利说要告辞了。不过，他打量着萨比娜伯爵夫人，又把时间忘记了。她作为东道主操劳了半天，这时坐在她常坐的椅子上歇一阵子，她默默不语，凝望着木柴烧成炭火，她的脸色那样苍白，表情那样难以理解，使福什利心里又生了疑窦。在炉火的照耀下，她嘴角上的那颗痣上的黑毛映成了金黄色。那简直就是娜娜的痣，连颜色都一样。他不由自主地凑到旺德夫尔的耳边，说了一句话。说真的，旺德夫尔从来没有注意到。于是，他们两人继续把娜娜和伯爵夫人作比较。他们发觉她们的下巴和嘴巴也有些相像，不过，两只眼睛却没有丝毫共同之处。另外，娜娜看上去是个天真的姑娘，而伯爵夫人呢，却让人不知怎么说是好，简直可以说她是一只正在睡觉的母猫，爪子缩进去，几条腿有点神经质般地在微微颤动着。

“不管怎样，同她睡觉还是可以的。”福什利说道。

旺德夫尔用目光透过她的衣服打量着她的肉体。

“是的，还是可以的，”他说道，“但是，你知道，我怀疑她的屁股长得怎样。她的屁股一定不丰满，你敢打赌吧！”

他住了嘴。福什利猛地碰了他一下胳膊肘，向他指指爱丝泰勒，她坐在他们前边的一张圆凳子上。刚才他俩大声说话，没有看见她，她大概听见了。不过，爱丝泰勒的身体依然坐得笔直，一动也不动，这个长得太快的姑娘的瘦脖子上，没有一根汗毛动一下。于是他们走开了三四步。旺德夫尔说，他保证伯爵夫人是个作风正派的女人。

这一阵子，壁炉前面的说话声音高了起来。杜·荣古瓦太太说道：

“我已经同意您的看法，俾斯麦也许是一个聪明人……不过，如果您还要把他说成天才……”

太太们都重新回到她们最初的谈话的主题上来。

“怎么！又谈俾斯麦先生呀！”福什利嘟哝道，“这次我可真的要走啦。”

“等一等，”旺德夫尔说道，“我们必须让伯爵给我们一个最后的回答。”

缪法伯爵同他的岳父和几个神态严肃的人在谈话。旺德夫尔把他拉过来，再次向他发出邀请，支持他去，并说他自己也要参加夜宵活动。一个男子汉到处都可以去嘛，不会引起人们的风言风语，最多引起人们的好奇。伯爵耷拉着眼皮，默默听他讲这些道理。旺德夫尔觉得伯爵有点动摇了，这时候，德·舒阿尔侯爵带着疑问的神态走过来。侯爵知道了是怎么一回事，福什利邀请他也参加，他偷偷瞟了瞟他的女婿。大家显得很尴尬，沉默了良久。他们两人这时都鼓起了勇气，倘若缪法伯爵没有瞥见韦诺先生死命地盯着他，他们也许接受邀请了。这个矮老头子，脸上没有一丝笑容，脸色发灰，两眼像钢一样寒光逼人。

“不去。”伯爵马上用那么肯定的语气回答，说什么他也不会接受邀请了。

于是，侯爵用更加严肃的语气拒绝了邀请，他谈起了道德的问题。上层阶级应当树立榜样。福什利淡淡一笑，他握了握旺德夫尔的手，也不等他，拔腿就走了，因为他还要到他的报社里去哩。

“明天半夜十二点，在娜娜家里见面，对吧？”

拉法卢瓦兹也跟着要走。斯泰内与太太们挥手告别。其他男人也跟着他们一起告退。在走向候见室去取外套时，大家都说同样的话，每个人都重复道：“明天半夜十二点，在娜娜家里见面。”乔治等着和他妈妈一起走，他站在门口，告诉每个人娜娜的确切地址是在四层楼，左边的门。不过，福什利在离开客厅前，又回过头来望了最后一眼。旺德夫尔又坐到太太们中间，与莱奥妮德·德·谢泽勒开玩笑。缪法伯爵和德·舒阿尔侯爵又参加她们的谈话，而那个慈祥和善的于贡太太却睁着眼睛打瞌睡。韦诺先生消失在女人们的裙子后边，身子显得更小了，脸上重新露出了笑颜。在宽大而庄严的客厅里，十二点钟慢慢地敲响了。

“怎么！怎么！”杜·荣古瓦太太说道，“你们认为俾斯麦先生会来打我们，来打我们……这说得太过分了。”

尚特罗夫人周围的人都笑着，因为俾斯麦要打仗之事是她刚才说的，她是在阿尔萨斯听到的，她的丈夫在那里拥有一座工厂。

“我们有皇上，真幸运。”缪法伯爵用一副官员的严肃神态说道。

这是福什利听到的最后一句话。他又一次回头看了萨比娜伯爵夫人一眼，然后把身后的门拉上。她与内务部办公室主任正在漫不经心地谈话，而且看上去对这个胖子的谈话很感兴趣。显然，福什利搞错了，这个家庭并没有裂痕。真遗憾。

“喂，你还不下来吗？”拉法卢瓦兹从前厅里向他喊道。

大家到了人行道上，便分道扬镳了，人人都说：

“明天在娜娜家里见面。”

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