Part 33 (1/2)
”Monsieur de Grandvilain!” said one; ”Gad! how ugly he must be! He must be an elderly man.”
”But the footman said Cherubin too; that's a very pretty name.”
”They can't belong to the same man.”
”Probably there's a father and a son.”
While the guests indulged in these reflections, Madame Celival said to those who were nearest her, but speaking loud enough to be overheard by everybody:
”Monsieur de Monfreville did ask my permission to introduce a young man who has never been out at all; and I granted it the more willingly because this young man, who is the last of a n.o.ble family, deserves, so it is said, all the interest that Monsieur de Monfreville takes in him.”
”Ah! very well done!” murmured the gray-haired gentleman; ”a little announcement preceding the introduction.”
At that moment Cherubin entered the salon with Monfreville. Despite all that his mentor had said to him, he was far from self-possessed, and the deep flush that covered his cheeks sufficiently betrayed his embarra.s.sment. But his eyes were so lovely and soft, his features so refined, his face so interesting, that a flattering murmur greeted his entrance into the salon, and everyone felt prepossessed in his favor at once. The young men who were standing stiffly erect to display their fine points were the only ones who did not seem to share the general feeling.
”He has a very awkward manner,” said one.
”He carries himself badly,” said another.
”He looks like a woman in man's clothes,” murmured a young dandy, bristling with beard, moustache and side-whiskers.
And Monsieur Trichet, the gray-haired gentleman, smiled maliciously and said:
”Cherubin! a most appropriate name. He is Comte Almaviva's little page to the life! He still lacks the gallantry and self-a.s.surance of his namesake; but those will soon come. The ladies will ask nothing better than to train him.”
Madame Celival greeted the young man with a charming smile when Monfreville presented him. She made several of those complimentary remarks which captivate instantly the person to whom they are addressed.
Cherubin tried to reply to her compliments, but he went astray and tangled himself up in a sentence which he was unable to finish. Luckily Monfreville was at hand and interposed to relieve his embarra.s.sment, and Madame Celival was too well-bred not to do her best to put him at his ease. So that, after a few moments, Cherubin began to venture to look about him.
”What a lot of pretty women there are here!” he whispered to his sponsor. ”I say, my friend, do you mean to say that one can love them all?”
”You are perfectly at liberty to love them all, but I cannot promise that they will all love you.”
”The mistress of the house is very beautiful; she has eyes that--I don't dare to say it.”
”Say on.”
”That dazzle one, intoxicate one--excuse me, but I can't think of the right word.”
”Intoxicate isn't at all bad; in fact, you have unwittingly hit upon the most apt expression; for if wine deprives us of our reason, a pretty woman's eyes produce precisely the same effect. I am tempted to tell Madame Celival what you just said about her eyes; she will be flattered by it, I'll wager.”
”Oh! my dear fellow, don't do that--I shouldn't dare to look at her again. But the lady opposite is very pretty too! That blonde almost hidden by pink and white muslin.”
”That is Madame la Comtesse Emma de Valdieri; she is a fascinating creature, in very truth; she has something of the sylph about her, something of a daughter of the air. She is perfectly proportioned: small feet, small hands, small mouth, small ears; only her eyes are large.
She is the perfect type of tiny women. But she is exceedingly nervous and flighty, and, above all, capricious; to-day she will greet you with a tender glance, to-morrow she will act as if she did not know you; adulation has spoiled her. Comtesse Emma is French, but her husband is a Corsican. He is that stout gentleman with whiskers, who is singing at the piano. He has a superb ba.s.s voice, so that he is always anxious to sing; and, although he's a Corsican, he seems to be very little disturbed by the homage paid to his wife.”
Monsieur Trichet, who was at some distance from Monfreville, succeeded none the less in overhearing what he said to Cherubin; and he approached the two friends, saying in a sarcastic tone:
”True, true. Valdieri, the handsome singer, is not at all jealous; but it isn't safe to trust him! With these Corsicans, there is always the vendetta to guard against. Is your health good, Monsieur de Monfreville?”