As they drove in by the spacious graveled forecourt, with its lawn in the middle, and the large vases filled with flowers which so well set off the facade of Anzy, the journalist was saying: 

“When women love, they forgive everything, even our crimes; when they do not love, they cannot forgive anything—­not even our virtues.—­Do you forgive me,” he added in Madame de la Baudraye’s ear, and pressing her arm to his heart with tender emphasis.  And Dinah could not help smiling.

All through dinner, and for the rest of the evening, Etienne was in the most delightful spirits, inexhaustibly cheerful; but while thus giving vent to his intoxication, he now and then fell into the dreamy abstraction of a man who seems rapt in his own happiness.

After coffee had been served, Madame de la Baudraye and her mother left the men to wander about the gardens.  Monsieur Gravier then remarked to Monsieur de Clagny: 

“Did you observe that Madame de la Baudraye, after going out in a muslin gown came home in a velvet?”

“As she got into the carriage at Cosne, the muslin dress caught on a brass nail and was torn all the way down,” replied Lousteau.

“Oh!” exclaimed Gatien, stricken to the heart by hearing two such different explanations.

The journalist, who understood, took Gatien by the arm and pressed it as a hint to him to be silent.  A few minutes later Etienne left Dinah’s three adorers and took possession of little La Baudraye.  Then Gatien was cross-questioned as to the events of the day.  Monsieur Gravier and Monsieur de Clagny were dismayed to hear that on the return from Cosne Lousteau had been alone with Dinah, and even more so on hearing the two versions explaining the lady’s change of dress.  And the three discomfited gentlemen were in a very awkward position for the rest of the evening.

Next day each, on various business, was obliged to leave Anzy; Dinah remained with her mother, Lousteau, and her husband.  The annoyance vented by the three victims gave rise to an organized rebellion in Sancerre.  The surrender of the Muse of Le Berry, of the Nivernais, and of Morvan was the cause of a perfect hue and cry of slander, evil report, and various guesses in which the story of the muslin gown held a prominent place.  No dress Dinah had ever worn had been so much commented on, or was half as interesting to the girls, who could not conceive what the connection might be, that made the married women laugh, between love and a muslin gown.

The Presidente Boirouge, furious at her son’s discomfiture, forgot the praise she had lavished on the poem of Paquita, and fulminated terrific condemnation on the woman who could publish such a disgraceful work.

“The wretched woman commits every crime she writes about,” said she.  “Perhaps she will come to the same end as her heroine!”

Dinah’s fate among the good folks of Sancerre was like that of Marechal Soult in the opposition newspapers; as long as he is minister he lost the battle of Toulouse; whenever he is out of the Government he won it!  While she was virtuous, Dinah was a match for Camille de Maupin, a rival of the most famous women; but as soon as she was happy, she was an unhappy creature.