The entertainments and engagements of Paris were relentless—indeed, it was doubtful whether some of the leading personages of society slept at all—and as the Darcys spent the afternoons and evenings at one entertainment after another, the brightness of Paris began to lose its lustre. Mr. Darcy, therefore, enquired of his wife one afternoon as to whether she might prefer to dine at their own residence, pleading an indisposition to the hostess of that evening’s soirée.

“I would never wish to suspend your pleasure or that of my sister, but I own that I would be happy to spend a quiet evening in the company of my family,” began Mr. Darcy one afternoon.

Elizabeth was delighted. “On the contrary, Mr. Darcy, I was unwilling to begin to suggest that we vary our routine of endless entertainments, bons mots, and interminable suppers, but I agree wholeheartedly that I long for a simple, comfortable evening with you and Georgiana, where we three can be as dull and stupid as we chuse. Shall I ask Georgiana what is her preference?”

“Yes, please, Elizabeth,” replied Mr. Darcy, “and I am in such expectation of your success, that I rely upon the deception of your sending to the Marquise that we are sadly unable to attend this evening. If you like, I will be the culprit. You may say that you are sending your regrets, as your brute of an husband has barred the door and refuses to let either of the ladies pass.”

“Oh, certainly! I will undertake the task at once for the simple pleasure of industriously circulating such a rumour. I am sure that will do quite nicely to set the tongues of Paris wagging even more violently in our direction than they do at present!” laughed Elizabeth. “Let me go to Georgiana directly.” That evening, the Pemberley party enjoyed a quiet family evening alone: Darcy reading, Elizabeth writing some letters, and Georgiana at the piano-forte, until a footman knocked and announced, rather later in the evening than might be expected—even in Paris—a visitor. To the astonishment of all, the name given was the Comte d’Estrouville!

“Please forgive me the intrusion,” began the Comte to Mr. Darcy, “but I was informed—it appears mistakenly—that your family were unwell, and I could not be easy until I had determined that none of your party were in need of such assistance as might be in my small power to give,” he said, bowing first to Elizabeth, and then making a second bow expressly to Georgiana. “But,” he continued, “it seems that I am entirely in error and, further, that I have intruded most egregiously on your peace this evening.”

“My dear Comte,” said Elizabeth, “it does not follow that such an intrusion is necessarily unwelcome. Pray, do sit with us, although I am sure we are quiet indeed, compared to the gay scenes you have just quitted in your kind solicitude for our comfort.”