have supposed them to be discussing in chosen phraseology some
really serious topic. Old Mme Muffat then, whom La Faloise had been well
acquainted with, was an insufferable old lady, always hand in glove with
the priests. She had the grand manner, besides, and an authoritative way
of comporting herself, which bent everybody to her will. As to Muffat,
he was an old man's child; his father, a general, had been created count
by Napoleon I, and naturally he had found himself in favor after the
second of December. He hadn't much gaiety of manner either, but
he passed for a very honest man of straightforward intentions and
understanding. Add to these a code of old aristocratic ideas and such
a lofty conception of his duties at court, of his dignities and of his
virtues, that he behaved like a god on wheels. It was the Mamma Muffat
who had given him this precious education with its daily visits to the
confessional, its complete absence of escapades and of all that is meant
by youth. He was a practicing Christian and had attacks of faith of such
fiery violence that they might be likened to accesses of burning
fever. Finally, in order to add a last touch to the picture, La Faloise
whispered something in his cousin's ear.

"You don't say so!" said the latter.

"On my word of honor, they swore it was true! He was still like that
when he married."

Fauchery chuckled as he looked at the count, whose face, with its fringe
of whiskers and absence of mustaches, seemed to have grown squarer and
harder now that he was busy quoting figures to the writhing, struggling
Steiner.

"My word, he's got a phiz for it!" murmured Fauchery. "A pretty present
he made his wife! Poor little thing, how he must have bored her! She
knows nothing about anything, I'll wager!"

Just then the Countess Sabine was saying something to him. But he did
not hear her, so amusing and extraordinary did he esteem the Muffats'
case. She repeated the question.

"Monsieur Fauchery, have you not published a sketch of Monsieur de
Bismarck? You spoke with him once?"

He got up briskly and approached the circle of ladies, endeavoring to
collect himself and soon with perfect ease of manner finding an answer:

"Dear me, madame, I assure you I wrote that 'portrait' with the help
of biographies which had been published in Germany. I have never seen
Monsieur de Bismarck."

He remained beside the countess and, while talking with her, continued
his meditations. She did no