ridiculous part, the volcanic Provencal again knit the black brows
that overshadowed his blue eyes, smoothed his chestnut curls to keep
himself in countenance, and without betraying the agitation which made
his heart beat, watched the faces of the Countess and of M. de
Soulanges while still chatting with his neighbors. He then took the
hand of Colonel Montcornet, who had just renewed their old
acquaintance, but he listened to him without hearing him; his mind was
elsewhere.

Soulanges was gazing calmly at the women, sitting four ranks deep all
round the immense ballroom, admiring this dado of diamonds, rubies,
masses of gold and shining hair, of which the lustre almost outshone
the blaze of waxlights, the cutglass of the chandeliers, and the
gilding. His rival's stolid indifference put the lawyer out of
countenance. Quite incapable of controlling his secret transports of
impatience, Martial went towards Madame de Vaudremont with a bow. On
seeing the Provencal, Soulanges gave him a covert glance, and
impertinently turned away his head. Solemn silence now reigned in the
room, where curiosity was at the highest pitch. All these eager faces
wore the strangest mixed expressions; every one apprehended one of
those outbreaks which men of breeding carefully avoid. Suddenly the
Count's pale face turned as red as the scarlet facings of his coat,
and he fixed his gaze on the floor that the cause of his agitation
might not be guessed. On catching sight of the unknown lady humbly
seated by the pedestal of the candelabrum, he moved away with a
melancholy air, passing in front of the lawyer, and took refuge in one
of the cardrooms. Martial and all the company thought that Soulanges
had publicly surrendered the post, out of fear of the ridicule which
invariably attaches to a discarded lover. The lawyer proudly raised
his head and looked at the strange lady; then, as he took his seat at