paid so gracefully. Fortunately he
was spared this duty by the arrival of a very much dressed, tall, bony
woman, toward whom the Countess darted off with astonishing vivacity,
exclaiming, joyfully: "Madame la Marechale!" and Amedee, still following
in the wake of his comrade, sailed along toward the corner of the
drawing-room, and then cast anchor before a whole flotilla of black
coats. Amedee's spirits began to revive, and he examined the place, so
entirely new to him, where his growing reputation had admitted him.

It was a vast drawing-room after the First Empire style, hung and
furnished in yellow satin, whose high white panels were decorated with
trophies of antique weapons carved in wood and gilded. A dauber from
the Ecole des Beaux-Arts would have branded with the epithet "sham" the
armchairs and sofas ornamented with sphinx heads in bronze, as well as
the massive green marble clock upon which stood, all in gold, a favorite
court personage, clothed in a cap, sword, and fig-leaf, who seemed to be
making love to a young person in a floating tunic, with her hair dressed
exactly like that of the Empress Josephine. But the dauber would have
been wrong, for this massive splendor was wanting neither in grandeur
nor character. Two pictures only lighted up the cold walls; one, signed
by Gros, was an equestrian portrait of the Marshal, Madame Fontaine's
father, the old drummer of Pont de Lodi, one of the bravest of
Napoleon's lieutenants. He was represented in full-dress uniform,
with an enormous black-plumed hat, brandishing his blue velvet baton,
sprinkled with golden bees, and under the rearing horse's legs one
could see in the dim distance a grand battle in the snow, and mouths of
burning cannons. The other picture, placed upon an easel and lighted by
a lamp with a reflector, was one of Ingre's the 'chef-d'oeuvres'. It
was the portrait of the mistress of the house at the age of eighteen,
a portrait of which the Countess was now but an old and horrible
caricature.

Arthur Papillon talked in a low voice with Amedee, explaining to him how
Madame Fontaine's drawing-room was neutral ground, open to people of
all parties. As daughter of a Marshal of the First Empire, the Countess
preserved the highest regard for the people at the Tuileries, although
she was the widow of Count Fontaine, who was one of the brood
of Royer-Collard's conservatives, a parliamentarian ennobled by
Louis-Philippe, twice a colleague of Guizot on the