"No; what is that?"

"A group of new artists, impressionists in a state of intoxication. Two
of them are very fine."

The great lady murmured, with disdain: "I do not like the jests of those
gentlemen."

Authoritative, brusque, barely tolerating any other opinion than
her own, and founding hers solely on the consciousness of her social
station, considering, without being able to give a good reason for it,
that artists and learned men were merely intelligent mercenaries charged
by God to amuse society or to render service to it, she had no other
basis for her judgments than the degree of astonishment or of pleasure
she experienced at the sight of a thing, the reading of a book, or the
recital of a discovery.

Tall, stout, heavy, red, with a loud voice, she passed as having the
air of a great lady because nothing embarrassed her; she dared to say
anything and patronized the whole world, including dethroned princes,
with her receptions in their honor, and even the Almighty by her
generosity to the clergy and her gifts to the churches.

"Does the Duchess know," Musadieu continued, "that they say the assassin
of Marie Lambourg has been arrested?"

Her interest was awakened at once.

"No, tell me about it," she replied.