cat-like chasseur, prompting his master to make civil
speeches.

The ladies bowed with that kind of haughty acknowledgment which shows
that compliments from such a source are distasteful. But our trio of
conversation was broken up, and I was sorry for it. The marquis looked
as if he had been stirred up to make that one speech, and hoped that he
would not be expected to say more; while behind him stood the chasseur,
half impertinent and half servile in his ways and attitudes. The ladies,
who were real ladies, seemed to be sorry for the awkwardness of the
marquis, and addressed some trifling questions to him, adapting
themselves to the subjects on which he could have no trouble in answering.
The chasseur, meanwhile, was talking to himself in a growling tone of
voice. I had fallen a little into the background at this interruption in
a conversation which promised to be so pleasant, and I could not help
hearing his words.

"Really, De Carabas grows more stupid every day. I have a great mind to
throw off his boots, and leave him to his fate. I was intended for a
court, and to a court I will go, and make my own fortune as I have made
his. The emperor will appreciate my talents."

And such are the habits of the French, or such his forgetfulness of good
manners in his anger, that he spat right and left on the parquetted
floor.

Just then a very ugly, very pleasant-looking man, came towards the
two ladies to whom I had lately been speaking, leading up to them a
delicate, fair woman, dressed all in the softest white, as if she were
_vouee au blanc_. I do not think there was a bit of colour about her.
I thought I heard her making, as she came along, a little noise of
pleasure, not exactly like the singing of a tea-kettle, nor yet like the
cooing of a dove, but reminding me of each sound.

"Madame de Mioumiou was anxious to see you," said he, addressing the
lady with the roses, "so I have brought her across to give you a
pleasure!" What an honest, good face! but oh! how ugly! And yet I liked
his ugliness better than most persons' beauty. There was a look of
pathetic acknowledgment of his ugliness, and a deprecation of your too
hasty judgment, in his countenance that was positively winning. The
soft, white lady kept glancing at my neighbour the chasseur, as if they
had had some former acquaintance, which puzzled me very much, as they
were of such different rank. However, their nerves were evidently strung
to the same tune, for