Sometimes she would be as gentle as she
had been during the brief summer that had seen the birth of her love;
sometimes, again, she was unendurable. Every one made excuses for her
inequality of temper, which had its source in sufferings at once
secret and known to all. The Comte de Kergarouet had some influence
over her, thanks to his increased prodigality, a kind of consolation
which rarely fails of its effect on a Parisian girl.
The first ball at which Mademoiselle de Fontaine appeared was at the
Neapolitan ambassador's. As she took her place in the first quadrille
she saw, a few yards away from her, Maximilien Longueville, who nodded
slightly to her partner.
"Is that young man a friend of yours?" she asked, with a scornful air.
"Only my brother," he replied.
Emilie could not help starting. "Ah!" he continued, "and he is the
noblest soul living----"
"Do you know my name?" asked Emilie, eagerly interrupting him.
"No, mademoiselle. It is a crime, I confess, not to remember a name
which is on every lip--I ought to say in every heart. But I have a
valid excuse. I have but just arrived from Germany. My ambassador, who
is in Paris on leave, sent me here this evening to take care of his
amiable wife, whom you may see yonder in that corner."
"A perfect tragic mask!" said Emilie, after looking at the
ambassadress.
"And yet that is her ballroom face!" said the young man, laughing.
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