Paris does not mourn very long. Paris is like the earth: one half of it
is always illumined by the sun. On this fateful evening the incroyables
and the merveilleuses were amusing themselves within the walls of the
Palace of Narcissus.
The members of Cythera's Brigade took great pains to make outsiders
believe that they never troubled themselves about that half of the world
which was in shadow--that half called politics.
In the salon of the fascinating Countess Themire Dealba not a word was
heard relating to affairs of state. The beautiful women who were banded
together to learn the secrets which threatened the present order of
government worked in an imperceptible manner. They did not belong to the
ordinary class of spies--those who collect every ill-natured word, every
trifling occurrence of the street. No, indeed! _They_ did nothing but
amuse themselves. They were merry society women, trusty friends and
confidantes. They moved in the best circles; no one ever saw them
exchange a word with a police commissioner. If any one in the company
happened to speak of anything even remotely connected with politics,
some one quickly changed the subject to a more innocent theme; and if a
stranger chanced to mention so delicate a matter as, say, the dinner
which had been given by the emperor's nephew at Very's, which cost
seventy-five thousand francs, while forty thousand laborers were
starving, then the witty Countess Themire herself turned the
conversation to the "toilet rivalry" between the Mesdames Tallien and
Recamier.
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