Mme du Joncquoy was not fond of any of them
save Weber, while Mme Chantereau stood up for the Italians. The ladies'
voices had turned soft and languishing, and in front of the hearth
one might have fancied one's self listening in meditative, religious
retirement to the faint, discreet music of a little chapel.
"Now let's see," murmured Vandeuvres, bringing Fauchery back into the
middle of the drawing room, "notwithstanding it all, we must invent a
woman for tomorrow. Shall we ask Steiner about it?"
"Oh, when Steiner's got hold of a woman," said the journalist, "it's
because Paris has done with her."
Vandeuvres, however, was searching about on every side.
"Wait a bit," he continued, "the other day I met Foucarmont with a
charming blonde. I'll go and tell him to bring her."
And he called to Foucarmont. They exchanged a few words rapidly. There
must have been some sort of complication, for both of them, moving
carefully forward and stepping over the dresses of the ladies, went off
in quest of another young man with whom they continued the discussion
in the embrasure of a window. Fauchery was left to himself and had just
decided to proceed to the hearth, where Mme du Joncquoy was announcing
that she never heard Weber played without at the same time seeing lakes,
forests and sunrises over landscapes steeped in dew, when a hand touched
his shoulder and a voice behind him remarked:
"It's not civil of you.
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