As the dinner proceeded, Daniel called to mind the various confidences of his friend, his despair, his hopes, the noble poems of a true sentiment sung to his ear alone, in honor of this woman.  It is rare that a man passes without remorse from the position of confidant to that of rival, and d’Arthez was free to do so without dishonor.  He had suddenly, in a moment, perceived the enormous differences existing between a well-bred woman, that flower of the great world, and common women, though of the latter he did not know beyond one specimen.  He was thus captured on the most accessible and sensitive sides of his soul and of his genius.  Impelled by his simplicity, and by the impetuosity of his ideas, to lay immediate claim to this woman, he found himself restrained by society, also by the barrier which the manners and, let us say the word, the majesty of the princess placed between them.  The conversation, which remained upon the topic of Michel Chrestien until the dessert, was an excellent pretext for both to speak in a low voice:  love, sympathy, comprehension! she could pose as a maligned and misunderstood woman; he could slip his feet into the shoes of the dead republican.  Perhaps his candid mind detected itself in regretting his dead friend less.  The princess, at the moment when the dessert appeared upon the table, and the guests were separated by a brilliant hedge of fruits and sweetmeats, thought best to put an end to this flow of confidences by a charming little speech, in which she delicately expressed the idea that Daniel and Michel were twin souls.

After this d’Arthez threw himself into the general conversation with the gayety of a child, and a self-conceited air that was worthy of a schoolboy.  When they left the dining-room, the princess took d’Arthez’s arm, in the simplest manner, to return to Madame d’Espard’s little salon.  As they crossed the grand salon she walked slowly, and when sufficiently separated from the marquise, who was on Blondet’s arm, she stopped.

“I do not wish to be inaccessible to the friend of that poor man,” she said to d’Arthez; “and though I have made it a rule to receive no visitors, you will always be welcome in my house.  Do not think this a favor.  A favor is only for strangers, and to my mind you and I seem old friends; I see in you the brother of Michel.”

D’Arthez could only press her arm, unable to make other reply.

After coffee was served, Diane de Cadignan wrapped herself, with coquettish motions, in a large shawl, and rose.  Blondet and Rastignac were too much men of the world, and too polite to make the least remonstrance, or try to detain her; but Madame d’Espard compelled her friend to sit down again, whispering in her ear:—­

“Wait till the servants have had their dinner; the carriage is not ready yet.”

So saying, the marquise made a sign to the footman, who was taking away the coffee-tray.  Madame de Montcornet perceived that the princess and Madame d’Espard had a word to say to each other, and she drew around her d’Arthez, Rastignac, and Blondet, amusing them with one of those clever paradoxical attacks which Parisian women understand so thoroughly.