“You’re surely not quarrelling to-night?” asked he.

“No,” replied Juliette, with a burst of merriment.  “He’s talking too much silly nonsense.  If you had heard all the nonsense he’s been saying!”

There now came some more singing, but silence was obtained with greater difficulty.  The aria selected was a duet from La Favorita, sung by young Monsieur Tissot and a lady of ripened charms, whose hair was dressed in childish style.  Pauline, standing at one of the doors, amidst a crowd of black coats, gazed at the male singer with a look of undisguised admiration, as though she were examining a work of art.

“What a handsome fellow!” escaped from her lips, just as the accompaniment subsided into a softer key, and so loud was her voice that the whole drawing-room heard the remark.

As the evening progressed the guests’ faces began to show signs of weariness.  Ladies who had occupied the same seat for hours looked bored, though they knew it not,—­they were even delighted at being able to get bored here.  In the intervals between the songs, which were only half listened to, the murmur of conversation again resounded, and it seemed as though the deep notes of the piano were still echoing.  Monsieur Letellier related how he had gone to Lyons for the purpose of inspecting some silk he had ordered, and how he had been greatly impressed by the fact that the Saone did not mingle its waters with those of the Rhone.  Monsieur de Guiraud, who was a magistrate, gave vent to some sententious observations on the need of stemming the vice of Paris.  There was a circle round a gentleman who was acquainted with a Chinaman, and was giving some particulars of his friend.  In a corner two ladies were exchanging confidences about the failings of their servants; whilst literature was being discussed by those among whom Malignon sat enthroned.  Madame Tissot declared Balzac to be unreadable, and Malignon did not deny it, but remarked that here and there, at intervals far and few, some very fine passages occurred in Balzac.

“A little silence, please!” all at once exclaimed Pauline; “she’s just going to play.”

The lady whose talent as a musician had been so much spoken of had just sat down to the piano.  In accordance with the rules of politeness, every head was turned towards her.  But in the general stillness which ensued the deep voices of the men conversing in the small drawing-room could be heard.  Madame Deberle was in despair.

“They are a nuisance!” she muttered.  “Let them stay there, if they don’t want to come in; but at least they ought to hold their tongues!”

She gave the requisite orders to Pauline, who, intensely delighted, ran into the adjacent apartment to carry out her instructions.

“You must know, gentlemen, that a lady is going to play,” she said, with the quiet boldness of a maiden in queenly garb.  “You are requested to keep silence.”