"My dear girl, I've been a widow more than six months; I have a right to arrange my head as I please, and when one has fine hair it's never a crime to show it."
During dinner, Fanny talked incessantly of Gustave; Adolphine said nothing; Monsieur Gerbault let his elder daughter talk on, but he kept a serious countenance and looked frequently at Adolphine. At the time that she fainted at the idea that Gustave was dead, a sudden light had shone in upon her father's mind; but he had made no sign; he respected his younger daughter's secret, although at the bottom of his heart he was the more deeply touched by her suffering, because he could see no way of putting an end to it.
The dinner seemed horribly long to Fanny; she asked for the coffee before her father had finished his dessert, and kept leaving the table to look at herself in the mirror. This manoeuvre was repeated so often that Monsieur Gerbault could not resist the temptation to say to her, with a smile:
"My dear, it seems to me that, for a widow, you are rather coquettish."
"In my opinion, father," she made haste to reply, "a widow is more excusable for being coquettish than a married woman whose husband is alive; for, you see, a widow is free."
"Yes, no doubt that is true, especially when she has been a widow a long while."
"Well, do you call six months nothing? And I am in my seventh!"
"Yes, indeed! yes, indeed!--Never mind; the story of the _Matron of Ephesus_ no longer seems improbable to me."
"What's that about the _Matron of Ephesus_? I don't know that story."
"It's a fable; but it might very well be history, after all."
"Do you think so? It's only seven o'clock."
"Oh! I don't know what's the matter with me; I can't keep still."
Adolphine followed her sister with her eyes, thinking:
"It's her love for him that makes her so coquettish and so impatient! It's very funny; when he used to come before, I never thought of looking in my mirror; I thought of him, not of myself."
At last, the bell rang; it was Monsieur Clairval, cold, phlegmatic, taciturn. Next came Madame Mirallon, who always wore full dress, even at small parties. Next came a lawyer and a doctor, enthusiastic whist players, who were constantly disputing, one being a hot partisan of the short-suit lead, the other declaring that a good player would never stoop to that.