“No, no,” she murmured, as she led him towards a doorway.  “We will now have coffee in the little drawing-room.”

The guests, in couples, followed her.  Two ladies and two gentlemen, however, lagged behind the others, continuing their conversation, without thought of joining the procession.  The drawing-room reached, all constraint vanished, and the joviality which had marked the dessert made its reappearance.  The coffee was already served on a large lacquer tray on a table.  Madame Deberle walked round like a hostess who is anxious to satisfy the various tastes of her guests.  But it was Pauline who ran about the most, and more particularly waited on the gentlemen.  There were a dozen persons present, about the regulation number of people invited to the house every Wednesday, from December onwards.  Later in the evening, at ten o’clock, a great many others would make their appearance.

“Monsieur de Guiraud, a cup of coffee,” exclaimed Pauline, as she halted in front of a diminutive, bald-headed man.  “Ah! no, I remember, you don’t take any.  Well, then, a glass of Chartreuse?”

But she became confused in discharging her duties, and brought him a glass of cognac.  Beaming with smiles, she made the round of the guests, perfectly self-possessed, and looking people straight in the face, while her long train dragged with easy grace behind her.  She wore a magnificent gown of white Indian cashmere trimmed with swan’s-down, and cut square at the bosom.  When the gentlemen were all standing up, sipping their coffee, each with cup in hand and chin high in the air, she began to tackle a tall young fellow named Tissot, whom she considered rather handsome.

Helene had not taken any coffee.  She had seated herself apart, with a somewhat wearied expression on her face.  Her black velvet gown, unrelieved by any trimming, gave her an air of austerity.  In this small drawing-room smoking was allowed, and several boxes of cigars were placed beside her on the pier-table.  The doctor drew near; as he selected a cigar he asked her:  “Is Jeanne well?”

“Yes, indeed,” she replied.  “We walked to the Bois to-day, and she romped like a madcap.  Oh, she must be sound asleep by now.”

They were both chatting in friendly tones, with the smiling intimacy of people who see each other day after day, when Madame Deberle’s voice rose high and shrill: 

“Stop! stop!  Madame Grandjean can tell you all about it.  Didn’t I come back from Trouville on the 10th of September?  It was raining, and the beach had become quite unbearable!”

Three or four of the ladies were gathered round her while she rattled on about her holdiday at the seaside.  Helene found it necessary to rise and join the group.

“We spent a month at Dinard,” said Madame de Chermette.  “Such a delightful place, and such charming society!”

“Behind our chalet was a garden, and we had a terrace overlooking the sea,” went on Madame Deberle.  “As you know, I decided on taking my landau and coachman with me.  It was very much handier when I wanted a drive.  Then Madame Levasseur came to see us—­”