She spoke in a very loud key, her voice being naturally shrill.  And, as she lingered with the men, laughing and quizzing, the noise grew more pronounced than ever.  There was a discussion going on among these males, and she supplied additional matter for argument.  In the larger drawing-room Madame Deberle was in agony.  The guests, moreover, had been sated with music, and no enthusiasm was displayed; so the pianist resumed her seat, biting her lips, notwithstanding the laudatory compliments which the lady of the house deemed it her duty to lavish on her.

Helene was pained.  Henri scarcely seemed to see her; he had made no attempt to approach her, and only at intervals smiled to her from afar.  At the earlier part of the evening she had felt relieved by his prudent reserve; but since she had learnt the secret of the two others she wished for something—­she knew not what—­some display of affection, or at least interest, on his part.  Her breast was stirred with confused yearnings, and every imaginable evil thought.  Did he no longer care for her, that he remained so indifferent to her presence?  Oh! if she could have told him everything!  If she could apprise him of the unworthiness of the woman who bore his name!  Then, while some short, merry catches resounded from the piano, she sank into a dreamy state.  She imagined that Henri had driven Juliette from his home, and she was living with him as his wife in some far-away foreign land, the language of which they knew not.

All at once a voice startled her.

“Won’t you take anything?” asked Pauline.

The drawing-room had emptied, and the guests were passing into the dining-room to drink some tea.  Helene rose with difficulty.  She was dazed; she thought she had dreamt it all—­the words she had heard, Juliette’s secret intrigue, and its consequences.  If it had all been true, Henri would surely have been at her side and ere this both would have quitted the house.

“Will you take a cup of tea?”

She smiled and thanked Madame Deberle, who had kept a place for her at the table.  Plates loaded with pastry and sweetmeats covered the cloth, while on glass stands arose two lofty cakes, flanking a large brioche.  The space was limited, and the cups of tea were crowded together, narrow grey napkins with long fringes lying between each two.  The ladies only were seated.  They held biscuits and preserved fruits with the tips of their ungloved fingers, and passed each other the cream-jugs and poured out the cream with dainty gestures.  Three or four, however, had sacrificed themselves to attend on the men, who were standing against the walls, and, while drinking, taking all conceivable precautions to ward off any push which might be unwittingly dealt them.  A few others lingered in the two drawing-rooms, waiting for the cakes to come to them.  This was the hour of Pauline’s supreme delight.  There was a shrill clamor of noisy tongues, peals of laughter mingled with the ringing clatter of silver plate, and the perfume of musk grew more powerful as it blended with the all-pervading fragrance of the tea.