“As for me,” she said, “I thought that Monsieur du Bousquier cared chiefly for childish things.”

Under existing circumstances the remark had enormous success.  Mademoiselle Cormon obtained a great triumph; she brought the nose of the Princess Goritza flat on the table.  The chevalier, who little expected such an apt remark from his Dulcinea, was so amazed that he could at first find no words to express his admiration; he applauded noiselessly, as they do at the Opera, tapping his fingers together to imitate applause.

“She is adorably witty,” he said to Madame Granson.  “I always said that some day she would unmask her batteries.”

“In private she is always charming,” replied the widow.

“In private, madame, all women have wit,” returned the chevalier.

The Homeric laugh thus raised having subsided, Mademoiselle Cormon asked the reason of her success.  Then began the forte of the gossip.  Du Bousquier was depicted as a species of celibate Pere Gigogne, a monster, who for the last fifteen years had kept the Foundling Hospital supplied.  His immoral habits were at last revealed! these Parisian saturnalias were the result of them, etc., etc.  Conducted by the Chevalier de Valois, a most able leader of an orchestra of this kind, the opening of the cancan was magnificent.

“I really don’t know,” he said, “what should hinder a du Bousquier from marrying a Mademoiselle Suzanne What’s-her-name.  What is her name, do you know?  Suzette!  Though I have lodgings at Madame Lardot’s, I know her girls only by sight.  If this Suzette is a tall, fine, saucy girl, with gray eyes, a slim waist, and a pretty foot, whom I have occasionally seen, and whose behavior always seemed to me extremely insolent, she is far superior in manners to du Bousquier.  Besides, the girl has the nobility of beauty; from that point of view the marriage would be a poor one for her; she might do better.  You know how the Emperor Joseph had the curiosity to see the du Barry at Luciennes.  He offered her his arm to walk about, and the poor thing was so surprised at the honor that she hesitated to accept it:  ’Beauty is ever a queen,’ said the Emperor.  And he, you know, was an Austrian-German,” added the chevalier.  “But I can tell you that Germany, which is thought here very rustic, is a land of noble chivalry and fine manners, especially in Poland and Hungary, where—­”

Here the chevalier stopped, fearing to slip into some allusion to his personal happiness; he took out his snuff-box, and confided the rest of his remarks to the princess, who had smiled upon him for thirty-six years and more.

“That speech was rather a delicate one for Louis XV.,” said du Ronceret.

“But it was, I think, the Emperor Joseph who made it, and not Louis XV.,” remarked Mademoiselle Cormon, in a correcting tone.

“Mademoiselle,” said the chevalier, observing the malicious glance exchanged between the judge, the notary, and the recorder, “Madame du Barry was the Suzanne of Louis XV.,—­a circumstance well known to scamps like ourselves, but unsuitable for the knowledge of young ladies.  Your ignorance proves you to be a flawless diamond; historical corruptions do not enter your mind.”