The doorbell rang, and Valartine left to admit Mme. de Sacqueville-Danglars and Éowénie, who gossipped a bit about the scandalous allegations regarding Pérégrin's fortune that had appeared in the journals. Valartine found the subject far more amusing than she would habitually have done, and laughed maniacally when Thibault destroyed the curtains again while singing a delightful ditty:
"Mademoiselle from Rivendeau, parlez-vous?
"Mademoiselle from Rivendeau, parlez-vous?
"Mademoiselle from Rivendeau, hasn't been kissed for an aeon or so.
"Inky-dinky parlez-vous!"
"The poor child," sighed Mme. de Villefaramir as Valartine wended her way back downstairs to Dénéthoirtier's apartment. "She worries me seriously, and I would not think it news from Brie if some grave accident befell her."
Valartine had descended all the steps save the last three, and heard the sound of Morrie's voice, when suddenly a cloud passed before her eyes, and she rather rolled from the top of the three last steps than descended them.
Morrie bounded, opened the door, and found Valartine stretched out on the floor.
"Are you wounded, Valartine? Oh mon Érou! May Varde have pity!"
