recognized the singers from the theatre, male and female, mingled with
charming women, all ready to begin an artists' spree and waiting only
for him. Sarrasine restrained a feeling of displeasure and put a good
face on the matter. He had hoped for a dimly lighted chamber, his
mistress leaning over a brazier, a jealous rival within two steps,
death and love, confidences exchanged in low tones, heart to heart,
hazardous kisses, and faces so near together that La Zambinella's hair
would have touched caressingly his desire-laden brow, burning with
happiness.

"'_Vive la folie!_' he cried. '_Signori e belle donne_, you will
allow me to postpone my revenge and bear witness to my gratitude for
the welcome you offer a poor sculptor.'

"After receiving congratulations not lacking in warmth from most of
those present, whom he knew by sight, he tried to approach the couch
on which La Zambinella was nonchalantly reclining. Ah! how his heart
beat when he spied a tiny foot in one of those slippers which--if you
will allow me to say so, madame--formerly imparted to a woman's feet
such a coquettish, voluptuous look that I cannot conceive how men
could resist them. Tightly fitting white stockings with green clocks,
short skirts, and the pointed, high-heeled slippers of Louis XV.'s
time contributed somewhat, I fancy, to the demoralization of Europe
and the clergy."

"Somewhat!" exclaimed the marchioness. "Have you read nothing, pray?"

"La Zambinella," I continued, smiling, "had boldly crossed her legs,
and as she prattled swung the upper one, a duchess' attitude very well
suited to her capricious type of beauty, overflowing with a certain