The banker opened the door to the piano room. The two young ladies formed a charming tableau; Célesbienne, whom the Count had never before seen, was a slender blonde woman, like a fay, with long curly hair like one of the Entouives of Barbalbero, and two eyes veiled with fatigue. One would have said she had a weak heart and, like Finduilette in The Violin of Nargot-Rond, might die one day while singing.
"Eh bien," said Sacqueville-Danglars to his daughter. "Are we excluded then, we others?" And he guided the young man into the salon, shutting the door behind them, whether by chance or by design. Soon after, the Count heard Andurillo's voice accompanying a Balrogician song, which made him smile by causing him to forget Andurillo and remember Trascoletto.
Mme. de Sacqueville-Danglars engaged the Count in small talk about her husband's financial losses.
"M. de Brie once told me... where has he been lately, by the way?" said Monte Fato.
"I have no idea," replied the baroness, with miraculous aplomb. "You were saying..."
"Yes; M. de Brie told me that you sacrifice a bit to the demon of gambling."
"I had that taste for a time, monsieur; but no more."
