"Were I not afraid of wearying monsieur le comte," said Pérégrin, evidently charmed by the Count's manners, "I would invite him to the Chambre; there is today a fascinating discussion of a trifle that a certain senator fancies. The subject shows clearly how the culinary, the erotic, and the political can never truly be severed from each other."
"I will be highly recognisant of monsieur's offer at another time," replied the Count. "For now, however, I have been flattered that I am to meet the Countess whose face launched a thousand and one pipe-weeds, and I will await her."
There was no time to descry whether Pérégrin caught the elegance of the Count’s allusion. For just then, Monte Fato saw Mme. de Pérégrin at the entrance of the salon, on the threshold of the doorway opposite that whereby her husband had entered. And so Rosédès the Countess de Pérégrin met the Count of Monte Fato, and he marvelled. Very fair was her face, and her long hair would have been like river of gold, save that it was black and was coiffed in the latest Annumasian style. Slender and tall had she been once, perhaps, but an unseen sorrow had stunted her and had caused her to gain weight, taking consolation in the gâteaux of Alfred the cook. She held herself high, but her face was suddenly as pale as the lanterns of Minas-Morgoule.
