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through her glove, and felt betrayed by the way her body responded to his touch in stark opposition to her wishes. 'A bientot, Madame Vernier. Mon General!
Then he gave a sharp half-bow, and left. The waiter came and refreshed their glasses. Du Pont exploded.
     
'Of all the insolent, impertinent scoundrels,' he growled, leaning back in his chair. 'Quite disgraceful. Who does the blackguard think he is, insulting you in such a manner?'
     
'Insulting me? Did he, Georges?' 'Fellow couldn't keep his eyes off you.'
    'Really, Georges, I did not notice. He did not interest me,' she said, not wishing for a scene. 'Please do not concern yourself on my account.' 'Do you know the fellow?' Du Pont said, suddenly suspicious. 'I said I did not,' she replied calmly. 'Fellow knew my name,' he persisted.
'Perhaps he recognises you from the newspapers, Georges,' she said. 'You underestimate how many people know you. You forget how familiar a figure you are.'
    Marguerite saw him relax his guard at the careful flattery. Intending to finish the matter, she took Constant's expensive card by the corner and held it to the flame of the candle set in the centre of the table. It took a moment to catch, then burned brightly and furiously. 'What in the name of God do you think you're doing?'
Marguerite raised her long lashes, then dropped her eyes once more to the flame, watching until it guttered and died away.
     
'There,' she said, brushing the grey ash from the tips of her gloves into the ashtray. 'Forgotten. And if the Count is someone with whom my son wishes to do business, then the proper place for such matters is between the hours of ten and five at his offices.'
     
Georges nodded in approval. With relief, she saw the suspicion melt from his eyes.
    'Do you really not know where that boy of yours is tonight?' 'Of course I do,' she said, smiling at him as if letting him in on a joke, 'but it always pays to be circumspect. I do dislike gossiping women.'
He nodded again. It suited Marguerite for Georges to think of her as discreet and reliable.
     
'Quite right, quite right.'
     
'In point of fact, Anatole has taken Léonie to the opera. The premiere of the latest work by Wagner.'
     
'Damned Prussian propaganda,' Georges grumbled. 'Shouldn't be allowed.'
    'And I believe he was intending to take her to supper afterwards.' 'To one of those ghastly bohemian places like Le Cafe de la Place Blanche I shouldn't wonder. Crammed to the gills with artists and what have you.' He drummed his fingers on the table. 'What's that other place on the Boulevard Rochechouart? They should shut it down.' 'Le Chat Noir,' Marguerite said.
    'Layabouts, the lot of them,' pronounced Georges, warming to this new theme. 'Daubing dots on a scrap of canvas and calling it art: what kind of occupation is that for a man? That thoroughly insolent fellow, Debussy, who lives in your building? Chaps like that. Should be horsewhipped, the lot of them.'
    'Achille is a composer, darling,' she chided mildly. 'Parasites, the lot of them. Always scowling. Banging away on that piano day and night, I'm surprised his father doesn't take a stick to him. Might beat some sense into him.'
    Marguerite hid a smile. Since Achille was a contemporary of Anatole's, she thought it was a little late for such disciplinary measures. In any case, Madame Debussy had been very much too free with her hands when the children were young and it had clearly done not the slightest bit of good.
    'This champagne is really quite delicious, Georges,' she said, moving the conversation on. She stretched across the table and took his fingers, then turned his hand over and pressed her nails into the soft flesh of his palm. 'You are most thoughtful,' she said, watching the wince of pain turn to pleasure in his eyes. 'Now, Georges. Will you order for me? We have been sitting here for such a time that I find I have quite an appetite.'
CHAPTER 5
    Léonie and Anatole were shown to a private room on the first floor of Le Bar