must respect the
conventions here. The door had just been opened anew, and an old lady
had come in, followed by a young man in whom the journalist recognized
the truant schoolboy, perpetrator of the famous and as yet unforgotten
"tres chic" of the Blonde Venus first night. This lady's arrival caused
a stir among the company. The Countess Sabine had risen briskly from her
seat in order to go and greet her, and she had taken both her hands
in hers and addressed her as her "dear Madame Hugon." Seeing that his
cousin viewed this little episode with some curiosity, La Faloise
sought to arouse his interest and in a few brief phrases explained
the position. Mme Hugon, widow of a notary, lived in retirement at Les
Fondettes, an old estate of her family's in the neighborhood of Orleans,
but she also kept up a small establishment in Paris in a house belonging
to her in the Rue de Richelieu and was now passing some weeks there in
order to settle her youngest son, who was reading the law and in his
"first year." In old times she had been a dear friend of the Marquise de
Chouard and had assisted at the birth of the countess, who, prior to her
marriage, used to stay at her house for months at a time and even now
was quite familiarly treated by her.

"I have brought Georges to see you," said Mme Hugon to Sabine. "He's
grown, I trust."

The young man with his clear eyes and the fair curls which suggested a
girl dressed up as a boy bowed easily to the countess and reminded her
of a bout of battledore and shuttlecock they had had together two years
ago at Les Fondettes.

"Philippe is not in Paris?" asked Count Muffat.

"Dear me, no!" replied the old lady. "He is always in garrison at
Bourges." She had seated herself and began talking with considerable
pride of her eldest son, a great big fellow who, after enlisting in
a fit of waywardness, had of late very rapidly attained the rank of
lieutenant. All the ladies behaved to her with respectful sympathy,
and conversation was resumed in a tone at once more amiable and more
refined. Fauchery, at sight of that respectable Mme Hugon, that motherly
face lit up with such a kindly smile beneath its broad tresses of white
hair, thought how foolish he had been to suspect the Countess Sabine
even for an instant.

Nevertheless, the big chair with the red silk upholsteries in which the
countess sat had attracted his attention. Its style struck him as crude,
not to say fantastically suggestive, i