"--Madame Firmiani is metamorphosed into a house! but
the house is not a pile of stones architecturally superposed, of
course not, the word presents in Lounger's language an indescribable
idiom.--Here the Lounger, a spare man with an agreeable smile, a sayer
of pretty nothings with more acquired cleverness than native wit,
stoops to your ear and adds, with a shrewd glance: "I have never seen
Monsieur Firmiani. His social position is that of looking after
property in Italy. Madame Firmiani is a Frenchwoman, and spends her
money like a Parisian. She has excellent tea. It is one of the few
houses where you can amuse yourself; the refreshments are exquisite.
It is very difficult to get admitted; therefore, of course, one meets
only the best society in her salons." Here the Lounger takes a pinch
of snuff; he inhales it slowly and seems to say: "I go there, but
don't expect me to present _you_."
Evidently the Lounger considers that Madame Firmiani keeps a sort of
inn, without a sign.
"Why do you want to know Madame Firmiani? Her parties are as dull as
the Court itself. What is the good of possessing a mind unless to
avoid such salons, where stupid talk and foolish little ballads are
the order of the day." You have questioned a being classed Egotist, a
species who would like to keep the universe under lock and key, and
let nothing be done without their permission. They are unhappy if
others are happy; they forgive nothing but vices, downfalls,
frailties, and like none but proteges.
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