We followed Prudence downstairs. I trembled; it seemed to me that
this visit was to have a great influence on my life. I was still more
agitated than on the evening when I was introduced in the box at the
Opera Comique. As we reached the door that you know, my heart beat so
violently that I was hardly able to think.
We heard the sound of a piano. Prudence rang. The piano was silent. A
woman who looked more like a companion than a servant opened the door.
We went into the drawing-room, and from that to the boudoir, which was
then just as you have seen it since. A young man was leaning against the
mantel-piece. Marguerite, seated at the piano, let her fingers wander
over the notes, beginning scraps of music without finishing them. The
whole scene breathed boredom, the man embarrassed by the consciousness
of his nullity, the woman tired of her dismal visitor. At the voice of
Prudence, Marguerite rose, and coming toward us with a look of gratitude
to Mme. Duvernoy, said: "Come in, and welcome."