In spite of the received opinion that society abandons those who are overtaken by misfortune, all the friends of the De Nailles flocked to offer their condolences to the widow and the orphan with warm demonstrations of interest.  Curiosity, a liking to witness, or to experience, emotion, the pleasure of being able to tell what has been seen and heard, to find out new facts and repeat them again to others, joined to a sort of vague, commonplace, almost intrusive pity, are sentiments, which sometimes in hours of great disaster, produce what appears to wear the look of sympathy.  A fortnight after M. de Nailles’s death, between the acts of Scylla and Charybdis, the principal parts in which were taken by young d’Etaples and Isabelle Ray, the company, as it ate ices, was glibly discussing the real drama which had produced in their own elegant circle much of the effect a blow has upon an ant-hill—­fear, agitation, and a tumultuous rush to the scene of the disaster.

Great indignation was expressed against the man who had risked the fortune of his family in speculation.  Oh! the thing had been going on for a long while.  His fortune had been gradually melting away; Grandchaux was loaded down with mortgages and would bring almost nothing at a forced sale.

Everybody forgot that had M. de Nailles’s speculations been successful they would have been called matters of business, conducted with great ability on a large scale.  When a performer falls from the tightrope, who remembers all the times he has not failed?  It is simply said that he fell from his own carelessness.

“The poor Baroness is touchingly resigned,” said Madame de Villegry, with a deep sigh; “and heaven knows how many other cares she has besides the loss of money!  I don’t mean only the death of her husband—­and you know how much they were attached to each other—­I am speaking of that unaccountable resolution of Jacqueline’s.”

Madame d’Avrigny here came forward with her usual equanimity which nothing disturbed, unless it were something which interfered with the success of her salon.

She was of course very sorry for her friends in trouble, but the vicissitudes that had happened to her theatricals she had more at heart.

“After all,” she said, “the first act did not go off badly, did it?  The musical part made up for the rest.  That divine Strahlberg is ready for any emergency.  How well she sang that air of ‘La Petite Mariee!’ It was exquisite, but I regretted Jacqueline.  She was so charming in that lively little part.  What a catastrophe!

“What a terrible catastrophe!  Were you speaking of the retreat she wishes to make in a convent?  Well, I quite understand how she feels about it!  I should feel the same myself.  In the bewilderment of a first grief one does not care to see anything of the world.  ‘Mon Dieu’! youth always has these exaggerated notions.  She will come back to us.  Poor little thing!  Of course it was no fault of hers, and I should not think of blaming Monsieur de Cymier.  The exigencies of his career—­but you all must own that unexpected things happen so suddenly in this life that it is enough to discourage any one who likes to open her house and provide amusement for her friends.”