She would then be compelled to open her doors as usual. For
what would the habitues of the house, who had played there every
Monday for years, say if they found the doors closed? She was less
her own mistress than an actress--she had no right to weep or
suffer in solitude.
So, at about seven o'clock on Monday evening, although still
grievously suffering both in mind and body, she arranged herself
to receive her guests. From among all her dresses, she chose the
same dark robe she had worn on the night when Pascal Ferailleur
was ruined at her house; and as she was even paler than usual, she
tried to conceal the fact by a prodigal use of rouge. At ten
o'clock, when the first arrivals entered the brilliantly lighted
rooms, they found her seated as usual on the sofa, near the fire,
with the same eternal, unchangeable smile upon her lips. There
were at least forty persons in the room, and the gambling had
become quite animated when the baron entered. Madame d'Argeles
read in his eyes that he was the bearer of good news. "Everything
is going on well," he whispered, as he shook hands with her. "I
have seen M. Ferailleur--I wouldn't give ten sous for Valorsay's
and Coralth's chances."
This intelligence revived Madame d'Argeles's drooping spirits, and
she received M. de Coralth with perfect composure when he came to
pay his respects to her soon afterward.
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