Raoul was aware of the danger of such conversations, in which a Parisian woman excels; he feared the marquise would extract some admission from him which she would instantly turn into ridicule among her friends.  He therefore withdrew, prudently, as Lady Dudley entered.

“Well?” said the Englishwoman to the marquise, “how far have they got?”

“They are madly in love; he has just told me so.”

“I wish he were uglier,” said Lady Dudley, with a viperish look at Comte Felix.  “In other respects he is just what I want him:  the son of a Jew broker who died a bankrupt soon after his marriage; but the mother was a Catholic, and I am sorry to say she made a Christian of the boy.”

This origin, which Nathan thought carefully concealed, Lady Dudley had just discovered, and she enjoyed by anticipation the pleasure she should have in launching some terrible epigram against Vandenesse.

“Heavens!  I have just invited him to my house!” cried Madame d’Espard.

“Didn’t I receive him at my ball?” replied Lady Dudley.  “Some pleasures, my dear love, are costly.”

The news of the mutual attachment between Raoul and Madame de Vandenesse circulated in the world after this, but not without exciting denials and incredulity.  The countess, however, was defended by her friends, Lady Dudley, and Mesdames d’Espard and de Manerville, with an unnecessary warmth that gave a certain color to the calumny.

On the following Wednesday evening Raoul went to Madame d’Espard’s, and was able to exchange a few sentences with Marie, more expressive by their tones than their ideas.  In the midst of the elegant assembly both found pleasure in those enjoyable sensations given by the voice, the gestures, the attitude of one beloved.  The soul then fastens upon absolute nothings.  No longer do ideas or even language speak, but things; and these so loudly, that often a man lets another pay the small attentions—­bring a cup of tea, or the sugar to sweeten it —­demanded by the woman he loves, fearful of betraying his emotion to eyes that seem to see nothing and yet see all.  Raoul, however, a man indifferent to the eyes of the world, betrayed his passion in his speech and was brilliantly witty.  The company listened to the roar of a discourse inspired by the restraint put upon him; restraint being that which artists cannot endure.  This Rolandic fury, this wit which slashed down all things, using epigram as its weapon, intoxicated Marie and amused the circle around them, as the sight of a bull goaded with banderols amuses the company in a Spanish circus.

“You may kick as you please, but you can’t make a solitude about you,” whispered Blondet.

The words brought Raoul to his senses, and he ceased to exhibit his irritation to the company.  Madame d’Espard came up to offer him a cup of tea, and said loud enough for Madame de Vandenesse to hear:—­

“You are certainly very amusing; come and see me sometimes at four o’clock.”