Domestic Peace | Page 8

endowed with the nervous temperament which in a man gives rise
to fine qualities, his slender build and pale complexion were not at first
sight attractive; his black eyes betrayed great vivacity, but he was
taciturn in company, and there was nothing in his appearance to reveal
the gift for oratory which subsequently distinguished him, on the Right,
in the legislative assembly under the Restoration.
The Comtesse de Vaudremont, a tall woman, rather fat, with a skin of
dazzling whiteness, a small head that she carried well, and the immense
advantage of inspiring love by the graciousness of her manner, was one
of those beings who keep all the promise of their beauty.
The pair, who for a few minutes were the centre of general observation,
did not for long give curiosity an opportunity of exercising itself about
them. The Colonel and the Countess seemed perfectly to understand
that accident had placed them in an awkward position. Martial, as they
came forward, had hastened to join the group of men by the fireplace,
that he might watch Madame de Vaudremont with the jealous anxiety
of the first flame of passion, from behind the heads which formed a sort
of rampart; a secret voice seemed to warn him that the success on
which he prided himself might perhaps be precarious. But the coldly
polite smile with which the Countess thanked Monsieur de Soulanges,
and her little bow of dismissal as she sat down by Madame de
Gondreville, relaxed the muscles of his face which jealousy had made
rigid. Seeing Soulanges, however, still standing quite near the sofa on
which Madame de Vaudremont was seated, not apparently having
understood the glance by which the lady had conveyed to him that they
were both playing a ridiculous part, the volcanic Provencal again knit
the black brows that overshadowed his blue eyes, smoothed his
chestnut curls to keep himself in countenance, and without betraying
the agitation which made his heart beat, watched the faces of the
Countess and of M. de Soulanges while still chatting with his neighbors.
He then took the hand of Colonel Montcornet, who had just renewed

their old acquaintance, but he listened to him without hearing him; his
mind was elsewhere.
Soulanges was gazing calmly at the women, sitting four ranks deep all
round the immense ballroom, admiring this dado of diamonds, rubies,
masses of gold and shining hair, of which the lustre almost outshone
the blaze of waxlights, the cutglass of the chandeliers, and the gilding.
His rival's stolid indifference put the lawyer out of countenance. Quite
incapable of controlling his secret transports of impatience, Martial
went towards Madame de Vaudremont with a bow. On seeing the
Provencal, Soulanges gave him a covert glance, and impertinently
turned away his head. Solemn silence now reigned in the room, where
curiosity was at the highest pitch. All these eager faces wore the
strangest mixed expressions; every one apprehended one of those
outbreaks which men of breeding carefully avoid. Suddenly the Count's
pale face turned as red as the scarlet facings of his coat, and he fixed
his gaze on the floor that the cause of his agitation might not be
guessed. On catching sight of the unknown lady humbly seated by the
pedestal of the candelabrum, he moved away with a melancholy air,
passing in front of the lawyer, and took refuge in one of the cardrooms.
Martial and all the company thought that Soulanges had publicly
surrendered the post, out of fear of the ridicule which invariably
attaches to a discarded lover. The lawyer proudly raised his head and
looked at the strange lady; then, as he took his seat at his ease near
Madame de Vaudremont, he listened to her so inattentively that he did
not catch these words spoken behind her fan:
"Martial, you will oblige me this evening by not wearing that ring that
you snatched from me. I have my reasons, and will explain them to you
in a moment when we go away. You must give me your arm to go to
the Princess de Wagram's."
"Why did you come in with the Colonel?" asked the Baron.
"I met him in the hall," she replied. "But leave me now; everybody is
looking at us."
Martial returned to the Colonel of Cuirassiers. Then it was that the little
blue lady had become the object of the curiosity which agitated in such
various ways the Colonel, Soulanges, Martial, and Madame de
Vaudremont.
When the friends parted, after the challenge which closed their

conversation, the Baron flew to Madame de Vaudremont, and led her to
a place in the most brilliant quadrille. Favored by the sort of
intoxication which dancing always produces in a woman, and by the
turmoil of a ball, where men appear in all the trickery of