It does not worry me.I should have no footing there whatever without a title."But Saval would not be convinced.
"Well, you are of rank, and so you may remain.But, as for me, no.Ishall be the only common person in the drawing-room.So much the worse, or, so much the better.It will be my mark of distinction and superiority."Servigny was obstinate.
"I tell you that it is not possible.Why, it would almost seem monstrous.You would have the effect of a ragman at a meeting of emperors.Let me do as I like.I shall introduce you as the Vice-Roi du 'Haut-Mississippi,' and no one will be at all astonished.When a man takes on greatness, he can't take too much.""Once more, no, I do not wish it."
"Very well, have your way.But, in fact, I am very foolish to try to convince you.I defy you to get in without some one giving you a title, just as they give a bunch of violets to the ladies at the entrance to certain stores."They turned to the right in the Rue de Barrie, mounted one flight of stairs in a fine modern house, and gave their overcoats and canes into the hands of four servants in knee-breeches.A warm odor, as of a festival assembly, filled the air, an odor of flowers, perfumes, and women; and a composed and continuous murmur came from the adjoining rooms, which were filled with people.
A kind of master of ceremonies, tall, erect, wide of girth, serious, his face framed in white whiskers, approached the newcomers, asking with a short and haughty bow: "Whom shall I announce?""Monsieur Saval," Servigny replied.
Then with a loud voice, the man opening the door cried out to the crowd of guests:
"Monsieur the Duke de Servigny."
"Monsieur the Baron Saval."
The first drawing-room was filled with women.The first thing which attracted attention was the display of bare shoulders, above a flood of brilliant gowns.
The mistress of the house who stood talking with three friends, turned and came forward with a majestic step, with grace in her mien and a smile on her lips.Her forehead was narrow and very low, and was covered with a mass of glossy black hair, encroaching a little upon the temples.
She was tall, a trifle too large, a little too stout, over ripe, but very pretty, with a heavy, warm, potent beauty.Beneath that mass of hair, full of dreams and smiles, rendering her mysteriously captivating, were enormous black eyes.Her nose was a little narrow, her mouth large and infinitely seductive, made to speak and to conquer.
Her greatest charm was in her voice.It came from that mouth as water from a spring, so natural, so light, so well modulated, so clear, that there was a physical pleasure in listening to it.It was a joy for the ear to hear the flexible words flow with the grace of a babbling brook, and it was a joy for the eyes to see those pretty lips, a trifle too red, open as the words rippled forth.
She gave one hand to Servigny, who kissed it, and dropping her fan on its little gold chain, she gave the other to Saval, saying to him: "You are welcome, Baron, all the Duke's friends are at home here."Then she fixed her brilliant eyes upon the Colossus who had just been introduced to her.She had just the slightest down on her upper lip, a suspicion of a mustache, which seemed darker when she spoke.
There was a pleasant odor about her, pervading, intoxicating, some perfume of America or of the Indies.Other people came in, marquesses, counts or princes.She said to Servigny, with the graciousness of a mother: "You will find my daughter in the other parlor.Have a good time, gentlemen, the house is yours."And she left them to go to those who had come later, throwing at Saval that smiling and fleeting glance which women use to show that they are pleased.Servigny grasped his friend's arm.
"I will pilot you," said he."In this parlor where we now are, women, the temples of the fleshly, fresh or otherwise.Bargains as good as new, even better, for sale or on lease.At the right, gaming, the temple of money.You understand all about that.At the lower end, dancing, the temple of innocence, the sanctuary, the market for young girls.They are shown off there in every light.
Even legitimate marriages are tolerated.It is the future, the hope, of our evenings.And the most curious part of this museum of moral diseases are these young girls whose souls are out of joint, just like the limbs of the little clowns born of mountebanks.Come and look at them."He bowed, right and left, courteously, a compliment on his lips, sweeping each low-gowned woman whom he knew with the look of an expert.
The musicians, at the end of the second parlor, were playing a waltz; and the two friends stopped at the door to look at them.Ascore of couples were whirling-the men with a serious expression, and the women with a fixed smile on their lips.They displayed a good deal of shoulder, like their mothers; and the bodices of some were only held in place by a slender ribbon, disclosing at times more than is generally shown.
Suddenly from the end of the room a tall girl darted forward, gliding through the crowd, brushing against the dancers, and holding her long train in her left hand.She ran with quick little steps as women do in crowds, and called out: "Ah! How is Muscade? How do you do, Muscade?"Her features wore an expression of the bloom of life, the illumination of happiness.Her white flesh seemed to shine, the golden-white flesh which goes with red hair.The mass of her tresses, twisted on her head, fiery, flaming locks, nestled against her supple neck, which was still a little thin.
She seemed to move just as her mother was made to speak, so natural, noble, and simple were her gestures.A person felt a moral joy and physical pleasure in seeing her walk, stir about, bend her head, or lift her arm."Ah! Muscade, how do you do, Muscade?" she repeated.
Servigny shook her hand violently, as he would a man's, and said:
