indness, did not move; there was nothing of the fidget in her, and
she would of her own accord remain seated for hours. However, as the
servant announced three ladies in succession--Madame Berthier, Madame
de Guiraud, and Madame Levasseur--she thought she ought to rise.

"Oh! pray stop," exclaimed Madame Deberle; "I must show you my son."

The semi-circle round the fireplace was increasing in size. The ladies
were all gossiping at the same time. One of them declared that she was
completely broken down, as for five days she had not gone to bed till
four o'clock in the morning. Another indulged in a diatribe against
wet nurses; she could no longer find one who was honest. Next the
conversation fell on dressmakers. Madame Deberle affirmed no woman
tailor could fit you properly; a man was requisite. Two of the ladies,
however, were mumbling something under their breath, and, a silence
intervening, two or three words became audible. Every one then broke
into a laugh, while languidly waving their fans.

"Monsieur Malignon!" announced the servant.

A tall young man, dressed in good style, was ushered in. Some
exclamations greeted him. Madame Deberle, not taking the trouble to
rise, stretched out her hand and inquired: "Well! what of yesterday at
the Vaudeville?"

"Vile!" was his reply.

"What! vile! She's marvellous when she clutches her bosom and throws
back her head--"

"Stop! stop! The whole thing is loathsome in its realism."

And then quite a dispute commenced. It was easy to talk of realism,
but the young man would have no realism at all.

"I would not have it in anything, you hear!" said he, raising his
voice. "No, not in anything! it degrades art."

People would soon be seeing some fine things on the stage, indeed! Why
didn't Noemi follow out her actions to their logical conclusion? And
he illustrated his remark with a gesture which quite scandalized the
ladies. Oh, how horrible! However, when Madame Deberle had declared
that the actress produced a great effect, and Madame Levasseur had
related how a lady had fainted in the balcony, everybody agreed that
the affair was a great success; and with this the discussion stopped
short.

The young man sat in an arm-chair, with his legs stretched out among
the ladies' flowing skirts. He seemed to be quite at home in the
doctor's house. He had mechanically plucked a flower from a vase, and
was tearing it to pieces with his teeth. Madame Deberle interrupted
him: