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The Duchess, delighted, clapped her hands, exclaiming: "Heavens! How charming and amusing they are, standing beside each other! Look, Monsieur de Musadieu, how much they resemble each other!" The two were compared, and two opinions were formed.
Your friends need you. We shall see each other again very soon, for I shall expect you to lunch with us." Musadieu hastened toward them. He had been detained for some minutes in the hall of sculpture, and excused himself, breathless already. "This way, Duchess, this way," said he. "Let us begin at the right."
"Does the Duchess know," Musadieu continued, "that they say the assassin of Marie Lambourg has been arrested?" Her interest was awakened at once. "No, tell me about it," she replied. He narrated the details.
Musadieu, surprised and embarrassed, defended himself, tried to explain and to excuse himself. "Allow me to say," he remarked at last, "that I heard this story just before I came here, in the drawing-room of the Duchesse de Mortemain." "Who told it to you? A woman, no doubt," said Bertin. "No, not at all; it was the Marquis de Farandal."
"When are you coming to dine?" she asked suddenly. "Whenever you wish. Name your day." "Friday. I shall have the Duchesse de Mortemain, the Corbelles, and Musadieu, in honor of my daughter's return she is coming this evening. But do not speak of it, my friend. It is a secret." "Oh, yes, I accept. I shall be charmed to see Annette again. I have not seen her in three years." "Yes, that is true.
Musadieu related, in veiled language because of Annette's presence, details of the life of this handsome singer, and the Duchess, quite carried away, understood and approved all the follies that he was able to create, so seductive, elegant, and distinguished did she consider this exceptional musician! She concluded, laughing: "And how can anyone resist that voice!" Olivier felt angry and bitter.
Suddenly he felt a sort of affection for this man, or rather that natural attraction one feels for a fellow-countryman met in a distant land, for he now felt lost in that strange, indifferent crowd, whereas with Musadieu he might still speak of her. So he took his arm. "You are not going home now?" said he. "It is a fine night; let us take a walk." "Willingly."
Musadieu was tall and very thin; he wore a white waistcoat and little diamond shirt-studs; he spoke without gestures, with a correct air which allowed him to say the daring things which he took delight in uttering. He was very near-sighted, and appeared, notwithstanding his eye-glass, never to see anyone; and when he sat down his whole frame seemed to accommodate itself to the shape of the chair.
The Countess rose, prepared the hot beverage with the care and precaution we have learned from the Russians, then offered a cup to Musadieu, another to Bertin, following this with plates containing sandwiches of pate de foies gras and little English and Austrian cakes.
He had laid his cheek against the Countess's knees, and he looked up at her with a tenderness touched with sadness, less ardently than a short time before, when he had been separated from her by her daughter, her husband, and Musadieu. "Heavens! how white your hair has grown!" said the Countess with a smile, running her fingers lightly over Olivier's head. "Your last black hairs have disappeared."
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