iling, followed. They did not speak of it as the events recorded
in newspapers are spoken of in private families, but as a disease is
spoken of among doctors, or vegetables among market gardeners. They were
neither shocked nor astonished at the facts, but sought out their hidden
and secret motives with professional curiosity, and an utter
indifference for the crime itself. They sought to clearly explain the
origin of certain acts, to determine all the cerebral phenomena which
had given birth to the drama, the scientific result due to an especial
condition of mind. The women, too, were interested in this
investigation. And other recent events were examined, commented upon,
turned so as to show every side of them, and weighed correctly, with the
practical glance, and from the especial standpoint of dealers in news,
and vendors of the drama of life at so much a line, just as articles
destined for sale are examined, turned over, and weighed by tradesmen.

Then it was a question of a duel, and Jacques Rival spoke. This was his
business; no one else could handle it.

Duroy dared not put in a word. He glanced from time to time at his
neighbor, whose full bosom captivated him. A diamond, suspended by a
thread of gold, dangled from her ear like a drop of water that had
rolled down it. From time to time she made an observation which always
brought a smile to her hearers' lips. She had a quaint, pleasant wit,
that of an experienced tomboy who views things with indifference and
judges them with frivolous and benevolent skepticism.

Duroy sought in vain for some compliment to pay her, and, not finding
one, occupied himself with her daughter, filling her glass, holding her
plate, and helping her. The child, graver than her mother, thanked him
in a serious tone and with a slight bow, saying: "You are very good,
sir," and listened to her elders with an air of reflection.

The dinner was very good, and everyone was enraptured. Monsieur Walter
ate like an ogre, hardly spoke, and glanced obliquely under his glasses
at the dishes offered to him. Norbert de Varenne kept him company, and
from time to time let drops of gravy fall on his shirt front. Forestier,
silent and serious, watched everything, exchanging glances of
intelligence with his wife, like confederates engaged together on a
difficult task which is going on swimmingly.

Faces grew red, and voices rose, as from time to time the man-servant
murmured in the guests' ears: "Corton