"That is a celebrated lady," Count Valonne said. "You must look at her,
Madame Loraine; she was one of the best dancers at the ballet, and last
year she tried to commit suicide in a charmingly dramatic way at one of
Gritzko's parties. She was at the time perhaps his chère amie--
one never knows, but in all cases violently in love with him--and is
still, for the matter of that--or so it is said--and in the middle of
rather a wild feast he was giving for her, she suddenly drank off some
poison, after making the terrifying announcement of her intention! We
were all petrified with horror, but he remained quite calm, and,
seizing her, he poured a whole bottle of salad oil down her throat, and
then sent for a doctor!--Of course the poor lady recovered, and the
romantic end was quite raté!--She was perfectly furious, one
heard--and married a rich slate merchant the week after. Wasn't it like
Gritzko? He said the affair was vulgar, and he sent her a large diamond
bracelet, and never spoke to her again!"

Tamara felt her cheeks burn--and her pride galled her more than ever.
So she and the ex-dancer were in the same boat?--but she at least would
not try to commit suicide and be restored by--salad oil!

"How perfectly ridiculous!" she said, with rather a bitter little
laugh. "What complete bathos!"