The effect made itself felt immediately on the entrance of the new-comers.  They were fresh from the fashionable world, as was to be seen at once, in their dress, in their equipment, and in everything about them; and they formed a contrast not a little striking with our friends, their country style, and the vehement feelings which were at work underneath among them.  This, however, very soon disappeared in the stream of past recollection and present interests, and a rapid, lively conversation soon united them all.  After a short time they again separated.  The ladies withdrew to their own apartments, and there found amusement enough in the many things which they had to tell one another, and in setting to work at the same time to examine the new fashions, the spring dresses, bonnets, and such like; while the gentlemen were employing themselves looking at the new traveling chariots, trotting out the horses, and beginning at once to bargain and exchange.

They did not meet again till dinner; in the meantime they had changed their dress.  And here, too, the newly arrived pair showed to all advantage.  Everything they wore was new, and in a style which their friends at the castle had never seen, and yet, being accustomed to it themselves, it appeared perfectly natural and graceful.

The conversation was brilliant and well sustained, as, indeed, in the company of such persons everything and nothing appears to interest.  They spoke in French that the attendants might not understand what they said, and swept in happiest humor over all that was passing in the great or the middle world.  On one particular subject they remained, however, longer than was desirable.  It was occasioned by Charlotte asking after one of her early friends, of whom she had to learn, with some distress, that she was on the point of being separated from her husband.

“It is a melancholy thing,” Charlotte said, “when we fancy our absent friends are finally settled, when we believe persons very dear to us to be provided for for life, suddenly to hear that their fortunes are cast loose once more; that they have to strike into a fresh path of life, and very likely a most insecure one.”

“Indeed, my dear friend,” the Count answered, “it is our own fault if we allow ourselves to be surprised at such things.  We please ourselves with imagining matters of this earth, and particularly matrimonial connections, as very enduring; and as concerns this last point, the plays which we see over and over again help to mislead us; being, as they are, so untrue to the course of the world.  In a comedy we see a marriage as the last aim of a desire which is hindered and crossed through a number of acts, and at the instant when it is reached the curtain falls, and the momentary satisfaction continues to ring on in our ears.  But in the world it is very different.  The play goes on still behind the scenes, and when the curtain rises again we may see and hear, perhaps, little enough of the marriage.”