In the meantime Fauchery decided that the moment had come in which to
risk giving Count Muff his invitation. The evening, in fact, was drawing
to a close.
"Are you serious?" asked Vandeuvres, who thought a joke was intended.
"Extremely serious. If I don't execute my commission she'll tear my eyes
out. It's a case of landing her fish, you know."
"Well then, I'll help you, dear boy."
Eleven o'clock struck. Assisted by her daughter, the countess was
pouring out the tea, and as hardly any guests save intimate friends had
come, the cups and the platefuls of little cakes were being circulated
without ceremony. Even the ladies did not leave their armchairs in front
of the fire and sat sipping their tea and nibbling cakes which they
held between their finger tips. From music the talk had declined to
purveyors. Boissier was the only person for sweetmeats and Catherine for
ices. Mme Chantereau, however, was all for Latinville. Speech grew more
and more indolent, and a sense of lassitude was lulling the room to
sleep. Steiner had once more set himself secretly to undermine the
deputy, whom he held in a state of blockade in the corner of a settee.
M. Venot, whose teeth must have been ruined by sweet things, was eating
little dry cakes, one after the other, with a small nibbling sound
suggestive of a mouse, while the chief clerk, his nose in a teacup,
seemed never to be going to finish its contents.
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