Frédérique, vol. 1

I stepped toward him, and, although I never take snuff, I put out my hand in the direction of his snuffbox, saying:

"With your permission?"

The gentleman was just closing the box, but he hastened to reopen it, and said to me with an expression to which he tried to impart much significance:

"Just try that, and tell me what you think of it."

I saw that he attached great importance to the quality of his snuff. Indeed, when one has a nose of such dimensions, it is natural enough to give much thought to the question of snuff. I took an enormous pinch, and resigned myself to the necessity of inhaling it with all my force. The snuff caught in my nose and throat and eyes all at once. I choked and sneezed, but I tried to dissemble my inexperience and to appear well pleased.

My friend shook his head knowingly, as he asked:

"Well! what do you think of it?"

"Excellent! delicious! I have never taken any so good."

"Parbleu! I believe you. Do you recognize it?"

"No, frankly, I do not. But, perhaps, by trying to—wait a moment."

I did what I could to prolong the conversation, for I was determined not to part with my interlocutor until the orchestra played the first measure of the waltz. Unluckily, I was not well posted on the subject of snuff.

"It's of no use for you to think," continued the man with the snuffbox. "It's a mixture that I make myself. There's robillard in it, and Belgian, and caporal."

"Ah! I thought there was some caporal. I recognized that."

"There's very little of it. When I have mixed them in just the right proportions, I add two or three drops, no more, of eau de mélisse."

"Ah! that's what it is; I said to myself: 'It seems to me that I recognize that taste.'"

"The taste is barely perceptible; but it lessens the strength of the robillard, which makes people sick sometimes."

"Fichtre! robillard is quite capable of it, especially on an empty stomach. I have known people, who—but, after all, it depends on whether you're used to it."

At that moment, I cut such an idiotic figure in my own eyes that I was tempted to laugh in my own face. Luckily, I had to do with a party who seemed to be of about the same calibre.

"Monsieur," he said, as he closed his snuffbox, "this is the result of protracted study; and yet, I never studied chemistry!"

"You astound me! I would have sworn that you were a chemist, simply on the strength of your snuff."

"That is what many people have said; but I ought to tell you that I have taken snuff ever since I was thirteen years of age."

"You are quite capable of it!"

"It was prescribed for a disease of the eyes—which, by the way, it didn't cure. I tried to make Anna take it for an ear trouble she had at seven years of age; but I couldn't do it. You can't imagine, monsieur, all of that child's devices to avoid taking snuff. In the first place, she used to hide my snuffbox, and more than once she threw it out of the window; then she filled it with very—unpleasant things; I prefer not to say what they were, but she spoiled my snuff, and she tried to disgust me with it. Ah! what a mischievous little witch! Who would believe it now, eh?"

I made no reply, for his mention of Anna reminded me that my partner had called the bride by that name. Was I conversing with some near relation of the newly married pair? The thought disturbed me, and I tried to lead the conversation back to the snuff. Once more I held out my hand, saying:

"I wonder if I might venture to ask for another pinch—it's so very good! And now that I know what it's made of, I shall relish it better."

My gentleman solemnly took his snuffbox from his pocket, and was about to open it, when a girl of fourteen or fifteen years, and very ugly, ran up to him, crying:

"Uncle Guillardin, you mustn't forget that you're going to dance with me first; I want to dance, I do, and I've missed three already."

"Yes, yes, don't worry, Joliette; I'll dance with you, as I promised."

"The next one?"

"Yes, the next one."

"Cousin Archibald invited me twice, too, and then he didn't come to get me; that was awfully mean of him. I told him I'd complain to you, and he said: 'Go and polk, and let me alone.' That was all the nastier of him, because he knows I can't polk."

Monsieur Guillardin—I knew now my snuff taker's name—opened his box and offered it to me; and paying no further heed to the little girl, who remained by his side, he said:

"One day, monsieur, when I had persisted longer than usual in trying to make Anna inhale a few grains, it occurred to her to blow into the box with all her might just as I handed it to her. You can imagine the result: the snuff filled my eyes—she had taken the precaution to close her own; I suffered horribly, and for two whole days I couldn't see. But after that, I ceased trying to give her snuff—Take a pinch."

I sacrificed myself a second time. I have no idea how I succeeded in inhaling it, but I know that my eyes smarted and that I felt strongly inclined to weep.

Mademoiselle Joliette, the inaptly named little girl, who had remained with us, roared with laughter.

"I should think monsieur was trying to be like you, uncle, when Cousin Anna blew into the snuffbox," she said.

"What! are you still here, Joliette? Go back to my daughter, for you are maid of honor, you know, and your station is beside the bride."

But Mademoiselle Joliette began to smile in a singular fashion, which raised her eyebrows—they were naturally too high—and gave to her face the effect of a mask. Her eyes were fixed upon me; she apparently had something to say, and dared not say it; my presence seemed to embarrass her. For my part, being by that time perfectly sure that the individual with the huge nose was the bride's father, I deeply regretted having addressed him, and I looked every minute in the direction of the orchestra, hoping to see the musicians take their instruments.

Monsieur Guillardin seized the opportunity to fill his own nostrils with snuff; that operation took some time, for each of them must have held half an ounce; but suddenly Mademoiselle Joliette threw up her head and began:

"Well, I don't care, uncle; I'm going to tell you why I am staying here. It's because Cousin Archibald, who was staring at monsieur, said to me just now: 'Joliette, go and ask father who that man is that he just gave a pinch of snuff to, and that he's talking to now. I don't know the man, and I don't think he's been here long. I want to find out who he is, because there are sharp fellows who sneak into wedding parties sometimes when they are not invited, so as to stuff themselves with cakes and ices. But I don't propose to have any such tricks played on us.'—That's what my cousin told me to ask you."

Imagine my plight; imagine the figure I cut while that detestable little Joliette was saying all this. I am certain that I changed color several times. However, I took the boldest course; I forced myself to laugh, and to act as if I considered the question extremely amusing. When he saw me laugh, the venerable gentleman with the huge nose deemed it fitting to do the same, murmuring:

"Ha! ha! That's a pretty good one! I recognize my son Archibald there. Oh! he's a hothead. Ha! ha! ha! why, if anyone should presume to join our party without an invitation, he'd annihilate him; he'd begin by jumping at his throat, like a bulldog. Ha! ha! it's very amusing! My dear love, just go and tell him that monsieur is—that monsieur's name is—that I am talking with——"

Monsieur Guillardin looked at me as he uttered these incomplete sentences. He was just beginning to realize that he too did not know me, and he awaited my reply with his nostrils open wider than his eyes.

I cannot describe my sensations; I felt huge drops of perspiration on my forehead, my mouth was parched. It was not stout Archibald's wrath that alarmed me; but to be treated as a suspicious character, as an intruder who had come there to get ices and punch! Ah! that thought drove me mad, and I realized all the impropriety of my conduct. I would have been glad to vanish through a trapdoor, like stage demons, and take the risk of breaking a bone or two in my descent.

At that moment the orchestra gave the signal for the waltz.—O blessed music! never didst thou seem to me so sweet, so melodious, so alluring! I bowed to the bride's father, saying:

"I beg your pardon, but I am engaged for this dance."

And I fled toward the pretty brunette, who was my last hope, my anchor of safety. Probably my face betrayed a part of the torment and anguish that I had just experienced, for the lady rose quickly and put her arm about me. We began to waltz, and she at once opened the conversation.

"What in heaven's name is the matter, monsieur? you seem much less cheerful than you were—and that secret that you were to confide to me——"

"Oh! I am going to tell you everything, madame; I shall be too happy if you deign to be indulgent to me, and to understand that this is only an escapade, reprehensible no doubt, but undeserving of—— Mon Dieu! I don't know what I am saying."

"Speak, I beg you; explain yourself."

"Of course—I believe I am treading on your foot now."

"That's of no consequence."

"First of all, madame, I must tell you that my name is Charles Rochebrune, that I was born in Paris, of respectable parents; I can easily prove what I assert."

"Great heaven! do you take me for an examining magistrate? Why do you tell me all this?"

"So that you may know that I am not a mere vagrant. I had some fortune once, and I still have about eight thousand francs a year."

"Does this mean that you desire to marry me, monsieur? It is my duty to warn you that I am married."

"No, madame, no; I don't say all this as a prelude to asking your hand; but so that you may know that I am not a nobody, a vagabond."

"Oh! I assure you, monsieur, that you haven't the look of one."

"True; but looks are so deceitful that sometimes—— Mon Dieu! now I am out of step."

"Never mind; pray finish."

"Very well! understand, then, madame, that I dined at this restaurant to-day with a number of other persons, all men. The dinner was given by Dupréval, a solicitor, who is about to marry. We celebrated his farewell to bachelorhood and drank to his approaching marriage; which is equivalent to telling you, madame, that the champagne was not spared. The dinner was prolonged to a late hour; we heard the music of this ball and of the one in the rear—for there's another wedding party there."

"I know it, monsieur. Well?"

"We were just going away, another young man and myself, who were the last to leave our dining-room, when the music, the delicious waltz they were playing, gave birth to the most insane idea."

"Ah! I believe I can guess."

"A little enlivened by the champagne, seduced by the melodious music—in short, madame, Balloquet said to me—Balloquet is my friend's name: 'Let's join the festivities, although we are not invited. Do you go to one, and I'll go to the other. If anybody notices our intrusion, if we are questioned, we'll say that we have made a mistake in the party.'—I allowed myself to be led away by Balloquet's reasoning; he went into the other ballroom, and I—I came here."

Instead of being indignant, as I feared, my partner burst into a hearty laugh, which the music hardly sufficed to drown. I allowed her to laugh freely for several seconds, then I continued:

"So you forgive me, madame?"

"Oh! absolutely, monsieur. What you have done doesn't seem to be very criminal. It's a little audacious, perhaps, but so amusing!"

"But, madame, it is most essential now that somebody should act as my sponsor; for the bride's brother, Monsieur Archibald, has noticed me; and just now, while I was conversing, unwittingly, with an immense nose, which proves to belong to the bride's father——"

"Monsieur Guillardin?"

"Even so. Well, as I was saying, a young person, instructed by this corpulent Monsieur Archibald, came and asked Monsieur Guillardin who I was. It seems that Monsieur Archibald is not always affable, and that he would probably take this pleasantry of mine badly. As for myself, madame, I realize that I have done wrong, that I have been guilty of a reckless piece of folly; but if this Monsieur Archibald tells me so in unseemly language, I swear that I am not of a temper to put up with it."

My pretty brunette had ceased to laugh.

"In truth," she murmured, "Anna's brother is the sort of fellow who doesn't understand practical jokes. He's a fool, and, being a fool, he is exceedingly sensitive; he loses his temper and quarrels over an idle word. He is very strong, it seems, and that gives him much self-assurance."

"It matters little to me how strong he is! I am no boxer, myself, and I don't fight as street porters do."

"Mon Dieu! what is to be done?"

"If you would condescend, madame, to be kind enough to say that I am an acquaintance of yours, that you invited me to come here—in a word, if you would present me?"

"I would ask nothing better if I were alone here; but my husband is with me, and he knows everything and sees everything; he's worse than the Solitaire. He would ask me instantly where I met you."

"See, madame, how they are staring at me already! Look, as we pass Monsieur Archibald, he points me out to several gentlemen standing near, and I have no doubt that he is saying to them: 'Do you know that man?' and they all say no."

"Oh! mon Dieu! you make me shudder, monsieur!"

"Look out for me when the waltz comes to an end—and I fancy that will be soon."

"But I don't want them to turn you out. You waltz so well—really, it would be a great pity."

"You are too kind, madame; however, if I am not taken under somebody's protection, it looks as if the affair would turn out badly for me."

"Mon Dieu! if only Frédérique were here! she would get you out of the scrape on the instant, I know."

"What! a lady named Frédéric?"

"Yes, monsieur—Frédéri—que."

"Ah! I understand, the feminine of Frédéric. And this lady?"

"She expected to come to Anna's wedding; she promised me she would; but she hasn't come."

"They are quickening the pace; a few turns more, and I shall be ignominiously expelled! What I shall regret most of all, madame, is you—who have been so indulgent to me, and whom it is impossible to see for an instant without ardently desiring to see you again."

"Oh! monsieur——"

"However, if Monsieur Archibald is discourteous, if he doesn't choose to accept a proper apology, I promise you that I will show him that he hasn't a dastard to deal with."

"Oh! don't talk like that! you make me tremble. If I should see my husband, I——"

My pretty partner did not finish her sentence; the music stopped, the waltz was at an end. But, almost instantly, my partner uttered a joyful exclamation and dragged me toward the outer door of the ballroom, saying in an undertone:

"Come, come; you are saved; here is Frédérique!"

I have no need to say whether I allowed myself to be guided by my pretty brunette. We forced our way through the crowd, at the expense of a number of feet which came in our way; my partner held my hand, and I pressed the protecting hand with which she held it, so that it could not escape me.

We reached the door of the ballroom just as a lady, newly arrived, was coming in. My conductress rushed to meet her, dragged her into a small room set apart for those who wished to converse, and, still without releasing my hand, led her into a window recess, apart from everybody, and said to her, laying her hand on her arm:

"Frédérique, you have arrived in the nick of time to confer a great favor on monsieur, and on myself, who—who take an interest in monsieur."

"What must I do? Tell me, my dear Armantine. I am all ready."

"Listen: you know monsieur, you invited him to come to the wedding, where he was to ask for you; but as you had not arrived when he came, he didn't know to whom to apply. Now that you are here, you must introduce him. Do you understand?"

"Perfectly! it's the simplest thing in the world! Take my hand, monsieur, if you please; for, as I am to present you, you must be my escort, for a few moments at least."

"With great pleasure, madame!"

"How lucky it is that I came without an escort, and that my husband has catarrh! It's a true saying that good fortunes never come singly."

"You will condescend, then, madame, to——"

"Why, it's all arranged; I am delighted to do anything to oblige Armantine. By the way, your name, monsieur, if you please; for, if I am to present you, I must call you by name."

"Charles Rochebrune."

"Very good! An advocate, I suppose? All the young men are advocates."

"I am not in practice; but I studied for the bar."

"That is quite enough. Now, let us go into the ballroom."

My new acquaintance passed her arm through mine and leaned on it as if we had known each other for years. I felt altogether reassured; I walked with my head erect, my face had recovered its serenity, and I was no longer afraid to look about me.

My partner left us as we entered the ballroom, and the lady on my arm asked me in an undertone:

"Do you know my name?"

"I know only that one by which she called you just now."

"I am Madame Dauberny, eight years married; I am twenty-seven years old, and my husband forty-four; he is wealthy and has no business. He doesn't care for society, balls, etc., but I go about without him. I was born at Bordeaux, and my parents were of the same province. I think that you are well enough posted now, in case anyone should talk to you about me."

"Yes, madame; thanks a thousand times!"

What I especially admired was the ease and fluency with which my companion said all this to me as we walked through the crowd; I am certain that no one who saw her talking to me would have suspected that she had never seen me until that evening. But Monsieur Guillardin and the bride came forward to meet my protectress, and I saw the stout Archibald too, walking behind his sister, and continuing to scrutinize me closely while he saluted Madame Dauberny.

"How late you are!" cried the bride, taking my companion's hand.

"We were in despair!" said the venerable proboscis; "it is half-past twelve, and we were just saying that Madame Dauberny would not come, although she had promised to."

"And here I am, you see. I never break my promises. Ah! that makes Monsieur Archibald laugh; however, it is quite true, monsieur."

"I was laughing with pleasure at seeing you, madame."

"You are too polite, monsieur. But I am the more culpable for being so late, because I have caused sad embarrassment to an unfortunate young man to whom I had said that I would be here at eleven, and that he need only ask for me and I would present him. I refer to monsieur, who has been looking for me here nearly an hour, so he tells me; and, failing to find me, he didn't know to whom to appeal. Allow me to introduce Monsieur Charles Rochebrune, a distinguished advocate—and a mighty dancer. I thought that you would readily welcome a friend of my childhood."

At that, I made a profound bow to the bride and her father, and to the hulking Archibald, who condescended to smile upon me, while Monsieur Guillardin exclaimed:

"All friends of yours are welcome, fair lady! I trust that you do not doubt it. But I have already had the pleasure of making the acquaintance of monsieur, who appreciates my snuff. But I confess that I didn't know with whom I was talking, and I was just about to ask him, when he left me, to go and waltz. If he had told us that he came at your invitation, that would have been enough to ensure him a hearty welcome."

"You are too kind, Monsieur Guillardin, but Monsieur Rochebrune is quite as well pleased to have me here;—are you not, monsieur?"

"Yes, madame," I replied, with an expression that made Madame Dauberny smile; and it seemed to me that that smile caused Monsieur Archibald to make a wry face.

"But where is Monsieur Dablémar? I don't see him anywhere."

Madame Dauberny had hardly asked the question, when a short man, dressed in good taste, but very slight and with an affected manner, came running toward us, crying:

"Ah! here she is at last, the one person we longed so to see, and of whose coming we had despaired! I must dance with you; I engage you for the next dance—that is to say, if you will deign to grant me that favor."

"We will see—later. I never dance as soon as I arrive; pray give me time to look about."

"My poor Anna has had to rest a little while; her brother trod on her foot; and he did well, too, for it is a good thing for her to rest: she was dancing too much, she——"

This gentleman, in whom I had no difficulty in discovering the bridegroom, stopped suddenly when he caught sight of me, evidently for the first time. My introductress, who had dropped my arm for a moment, took my hand and said to him:

"Monsieur Charles Rochebrune, a good friend of mine, whom I take the liberty to present to you."

Monsieur Dablémar bowed to me, as courtesy required. Thus I had been well and duly introduced to the bride and groom and the bride's kindred; I was one of the wedding party, and I could walk about fearlessly through the salons.

Having no longer anything to fear on my own account, my first pleasurable occupation was to scrutinize at my leisure the woman who had so gallantly come forward to be my buckler, and who, although she did not know me, although she had never seen me, had been willing to take my arm and to present me to a numerous assemblage as a person whom she knew intimately. I realized that she had done it at the request of a friend, to whom, as well as to me, she undoubtedly thought that she was doing an important service; but, none the less, there was a flavor of audacity in the performance that pleased and charmed me. Was it devoted friendship? was it recklessness of disposition? was it eccentricity, originality? I had no idea as yet, but I was deeply indebted to the lady, for she had extricated me from a bad scrape.

In the first few moments after my introduction, I was too excited, too preoccupied, to think of examining the person who introduced me; all that I could say was that, at first glance, she seemed to have a very becoming air of originality. Now that my embarrassment had vanished, and Madame Dauberny was talking with the bride, I could venture to examine her.

The person whom my pretty partner had called Frédérique was rather above middle height, rather slender than stout, but exceedingly well formed, with a something brusque and cavalierish in her gait and her carriage which was wonderfully becoming to her; her foot, while not remarkably small, was well formed; she carried her head erect, and slightly thrown back, and often rested one hand on her hip, like a man.

Madame Dauberny was not precisely a pretty woman; indeed, one might have passed her without noticing her; but the more you looked at her, feature by feature, her charm inevitably grew upon you; for there was a great deal of expression in her very mobile countenance. She was a brunette in the fullest acceptation of the term; her hair was of such an intense black that it was almost blue; this is not a witticism; extremely black and glossy hair sometimes has a bluish tinge; but such hair is rarely seen.

Her eyes were very dark blue, well shaped, and with abundant lashes; she fixed them uncompromisingly upon the person with whom she was talking, and they seemed to defy you to make them look down or humble themselves before anyone on earth. They denoted a woman of strong character, an energetic woman. Shall I say, a passionate woman? I think that I should err: strong natures are able to hold their passions in check, instead of allowing themselves to be dominated by them, like—— But I must finish my portrait. Gracefully arched, heavy eyebrows—but not too heavy—surmounted those expressive eyes; the nose was a little large, but straight, and the nostrils, slightly dilated, opened but little more when she smiled. She had a large mouth, and her lips were rather thin; but the teeth were very white and regular. That mouth was well adapted to raillery and persiflage; and it was most eloquent in expressing contempt and anger.

Madame Dauberny was naturally pale, and even by candle light her skin was not white. She had an oval chin and a high forehead. So much for her features; but all these details give a very insufficient idea of the general effect of that unusual face. It was necessary to see her in order to understand her; in the short time that I spent in examining her, her face changed entirely three or four times.

There was one thing that pleased me greatly, and that was her accent, in which there was a faint suggestion of the Midi, which, to my mind, is fascinating in a woman. She had a well-modulated voice, like almost all those who are born on the banks of the Garonne; it was not soft, but the accent deprived it of anything like harshness. And then, it reminded me of a fascinating Bordelaise, whom I had loved dearly, and known such a short time! On the whole, I was decidedly flattered to be considered Madame Dauberny's friend. But that did not cause me to forget my agreeable partner, to whom also I was deeply indebted. I was anxious to learn something concerning the pretty brunette. I tried to make up my mind to ask her friend Frédérique about her.

At that moment, she came toward me and whispered as she took my arm:

"Will you be my escort once more?"

"Ah, madame! I am too happy that you deign to accept me as such."

"Let us make a few turns about the room, and I will finish my task of giving you such information as you need concerning the company; then you will be free to return to Armantine."

"Armantine? Oh, yes! that is the lady who spoke to you in my behalf?"

"To be sure. You know her, do you not?"

"Not at all. I never saw her before; but I had danced a quadrille and waltzed with her."

"Well! this is a little strong! And what was the source of her deep interest in you?"

"The fact that I had told her of a mad prank I had just committed; of which I will tell you as well, with your permission."

"I not only permit it, but I insist upon it; for, after all, it is well that I should know something about the friend of my childhood."

I told Madame Dauberny the story that I had previously told her friend. She listened attentively, without moving an eyebrow. Her impassiveness frightened me. But when I had finished, she shook her head and smiled slightly, murmuring:

"It was a little risqué! So your friend is at the other ball?"

"Yes, madame."

"And your friend's name is——?"

"Balloquet."

"What does he do?"

"He is a doctor."

"There's no great crime in all this, provided that you really are, as you say, an honorable man."

"Ah, madame!—this suspicion——"

"Is fully justified, it seems to me; for, after all, monsieur, you may be a very bad character, one of those young men who cannot be received in good society. You may have said to yourself: 'I'll go and have a little sport at the expense of all those people!'—What would there be surprising in that? Oh! what a face you are making! Be careful, or people will think that I am making a scene; and when a woman makes a scene with a man, it means that she has some claim upon him. You must see that your long face is compromising to me."

I was horribly vexed; certainly she had a right to suspect me; but the mocking tone she had assumed, her manner, which denoted anything but conviction, and the expression of her face, augmented my chagrin, and I did not know what to say. How could I prove to her that I had not lied?

At that moment, a man of some forty years, stylishly dressed, and not ill-looking, but with a vague and shifty look in his eyes, stopped in front of us and paid a compliment or two to the incredulous Frédérique. I glanced at the new-comer, whose face was not unfamiliar; he caught my eye and bowed to me very affably. I cannot describe the thrill of pleasure which that bow afforded me, although I did not know who had bestowed it upon me.

"Ah! do you know Monsieur Rochebrune?" Madame Dauberny inquired.

"Yes, madame, I have met monsieur several times in company, notably at Général Traunitz's and at Madame de Saint-Albert's receptions."

"True," said I, searching my memory; "I remember very well having had the pleasure of meeting monsieur at those receptions."

"To tell the truth," rejoined Madame Dauberny, "I should have been surprised if Monsieur Sordeville had not known you, knowing all Paris as he does, and all that everyone is doing, all that takes place!"

"Oh, madame! you accredit me with much more knowledge than I possess," replied Monsieur Sordeville, smiling with what he intended for an affable expression, which accorded ill with the natural character of his face. "You are very late, madame; Armantine was distressed at your non-appearance; which, however, did not prevent her dancing. But Monsieur Rochebrune can tell you that, for I saw him waltzing with my wife, and very well, too, I assure you."

"What, monsieur! was it your wife with whom I had the pleasure of waltzing?"

"Yes, monsieur."

"Why, what extraordinary mortals you are!" cried Madame Dauberny, looking from one to the other, with an ironical expression. "You know each other, and yet monsieur does not know that it was Madame Sordeville with whom he waltzed?"

"What is there so surprising in that, madame? I have met Monsieur Rochebrune at parties to which my wife did not accompany me; that happens every day. Because one is married is no reason why one should not go out sometimes without his or her spouse; and I may say that you yourself are proving the truth of that statement this very evening."

Monsieur Sordeville said this in a meaning tone. Now that I knew that he was my charming partner's husband, I examined him more closely. He was very good-looking; his features were regular, and he had rather a distinguished face; but I was not attracted by it.

Meanwhile, Madame Dauberny had not remained passive under the little shaft Monsieur Sordeville had let fly at her; but I did not hear her rejoinder, because my pretty partner came up and took her husband's arm just as her friend was speaking to him.

"My dear Armantine," said my patroness, "you do not know, do you, that your husband is acquainted with Monsieur Rochebrune, whom I took the liberty of bringing to this festivity? He's a terrible man, is your husband; if I had undertaken to introduce anyone here under a false name, he would certainly have discovered the whole intrigue."

The pretty brunette smiled and blushed slightly; then she put her arm through her friend's and led her away, but not before I had whispered in Madame Dauberny's ear:

"Well! are you convinced now that I did not lie to you?"

"I never thought that you were lying," she replied, squeezing my hand as a man would do.

Monsieur Sordeville remained with me. He seemed inclined to continue the conversation, and I asked nothing better than to become more fully acquainted with the husband of a lady who pleased me exceedingly. For if he had a face which did not attract me, I was at liberty to think of his wife while I was talking with him.

"She is an extremely agreeable person—Madame Dauberny!" Monsieur Sordeville began.

"Yes, she is very agreeable; she seems to have much wit."

"Have you never before been in a position to judge of her wit?"

I bit my lips; I had said a stupid thing; but I hastened to add, in an off-hand tone:

"What I meant to say was that she has even more wit than she allows to appear on the surface."

"Ah! do you think so? I must say that it seems to me that she doesn't hide what wit she has."

I saw that I should have difficulty in extricating myself; when one has strayed into a bad road, it's the devil and all to get back to solid ground. And then, too, that Monsieur Sordeville had an embarrassing way of making one talk. The bride's brother happened to be passing us at that moment. He stopped and said to Monsieur Sordeville:

"Of whom are you speaking?"

"Madame Dauberny."

"Madame Dauberny! Oh! she's a gaillarde, she is!"

Monsieur Sordeville raised his eyebrows slightly as he replied:

"Hum! that word is a little strong!"

"Why so? I mean by gaillarde a decided character, which never bends, and does nothing except in accordance with its own desires; which takes its stand above a multitude of everyday prejudices, and snaps its fingers at what people will say. Indeed, Madame Frédérique—she prefers to be called that, you know, for she detests her husband's name—Madame Frédérique, I say, makes no bones of declaring that she does only what she pleases, and that she intends to do everything that she pleases. When a woman says that, I should say that one may well call her a gaillarde!"

Monsieur Sordeville smiled, and said simply:

"People say so many things that they don't do! Sometimes, it is to obtain a reputation for originality."

"And you, monsieur," continued Archibald, turning to me, "you, who are one of Madame Frédérique's early friends, do not you share the opinion of her which I have just expressed?"

I saw that Monsieur Sordeville was covertly watching me, and I replied, measuring my words:

"Since I have had the honor of knowing Madame Dauberny, monsieur, I have always recognized in her the possessor of many invaluable qualities, and a keen wit, slightly satirical perhaps; as for her faults, I know of none; but clever people are becoming so scarce that they may well pass for originals."

My interlocutors held their peace. Monsieur Sordeville shook his head, and Monsieur Archibald pursed his lips. The orchestra played the prelude to a quadrille. I determined to perform a noble deed, which would put me on good terms with the bride's family: I invited Mademoiselle Joliette to dance.

The ugly child accepted with unbounded delight. While we were dancing, I saw Madame Dauberny looking at me with a smile that seemed to say:

"That's a very clever thing you are doing."

For my own part, I hoped to reward myself in the next quadrille by inviting the seductive Armantine.

But while we were executing the final figure, a great uproar suddenly arose outside the door; people were shouting and quarrelling in the corridor, and I fancied that I recognized Balloquet's voice. Either he had not been so fortunate as I, or he had been guilty of some imprudence. I ran in the direction of the outcry.

As I stepped out into the hall which separated the two ballrooms, the dispute seemed to be growing warmer. I could distinguish Balloquet's voice perfectly, shouting:

"Once more, messieurs, I tell you it's a mistake, a simple mistake. What the devil! any man may be mistaken. I mistook one party for the other. Wedding parties are a good deal alike, as a rule, especially after the dancing begins. There's not enough harm done to whip a cat for."

The waiters did their utmost to restore peace, testifying that Balloquet had dined upstairs with some most respectable gentlemen.

I succeeded in forcing my way through the crowd. I saw a number of grotesque faces, which would not have been out of place in the Charivari's caricatures. Most of the men had retained beneath their gala dress the vulgur or stupid air which the finest coat cannot conceal. They were all very hot against poor Balloquet, who was as red as a cherry and gesticulating in the midst of them like one possessed. A stout man of some fifty years, whose eyes looked as if they were made of glass, they were so expressionless and so protruding, held him by the arm and kept repeating:

"You don't get off like this, bigre! You either belong here or you don't, that's all! Proofs! proofs! I want proofs!"

A tall, fair-haired young man, with a weak, stupid face, and hair brushed flat over his forehead almost to his eyebrows, seemed to be threatening Balloquet, as he said:

"And what did you do to my wife? tell me that! Did you or didn't you? Pétronille ain't capable of lying about it. She told me you pinched her! That's a pretty way to do—pinch the bride, when you don't belong in the party! If you'd been invited to the wedding—but that wouldn't be any excuse."

"I was dancing, monsieur le marié; my hand may have gone astray. If I did pinch her anywhere, I thought it was part of the figure, and——"

"Oh! that's a good one! that don't seem reasonable!"

"But, monsieur, you don't understand."

"You don't get off like that, bigre!" cried the fat man with the glassy eyes; "proofs! proofs! proofs!"

At that moment, to add to the uproar, a corpulent dame of at least sixty years of age, with a flat nose, smeared with snuff, her face encircled by a flaxen false front, the curls of which, artistically grouped in terraces, made her look as if she wore whiskers, and overladen with flowers, ribbons, lace, and false jewelry, appeared in the midst of the men, crying in a shrill voice:

"I don't want Pamphile to fight! I forbid him to fight! What's it all about? You shan't fight, Pamphile—I'd sooner fight myself, in my son's place. O my son, I'm your mother, or I ain't your mother! Monsieur's an intruder, a villain, a blackguard. Throw him out of doors! Call the watch!"

"No, madame, I am not a villain," retorted Balloquet, glaring savagely at the old woman, who was bedizened like a circus horse; "and I'll prove it."

"Go back to the ballroom, Madame Girie; this is no place for you; we don't need a woman's help to settle this business."

"I tell you, I don't want my son to fight!—Come, Pamphile, come back with me; don't get mixed up in this row."

"Oh! do let me alone, mamma! Go back with the other ladies."

"No! no! I don't want you to fight because monsieur pinched your wife. Mon Dieu! what a terrible thing! In the first place, Pétronille had no business to tell you of it. God! if the late Girie had fought every time anyone pinched me! But I didn't tell him! I took good care not to complain! I was too fond of my husband to do that; and he—oh! he loved his lovely blonde! You ought to hand monsieur over to the watch.—Watch! watch!"

Madame Girie persisted in shrieking: "Watch!" waving her arms, striking everybody within reach, and increasing the confusion immeasurably by trying to restore peace.

It was at that moment that I succeeded in reaching Balloquet's side, and released him from the man with the glassy eyes.

"What's all this, messieurs?" I exclaimed.—"What has happened to you, my dear Balloquet? Why are all these people so incensed with you?"

Balloquet uttered a cry of joy at sight of me, and cast a haughty glance at his adversaries, saying:

"You see that I didn't lie to you, messieurs; here's my friend, who is a guest at the other wedding and has come in search of me.—Isn't it true, Rochebrune, that you have come to fetch me, and that I am Arthur Balloquet, medical practitioner, and that I am not the sort of man to be turned out of doors?"

"Proofs! proofs! proofs!"

"I don't want my son to fight!—Listen to your mother, Pamphile!"

"You pinched Pétronille; I stick to that!"

"But I made a mistake!"

"Watch!"

"In God's name, Madame Girie, be good enough to hold your tongue!"

A small man, whom I had not yet seen, as he was hidden by the crowd, succeeded in passing his perfectly curled blonde head under Madame Girie's ear rings, and said, gesticulating freely after the manner of Mr. Punch, for he bore a strong resemblance to a marionette:

At Mademoiselle Bocal's wedding feast, punch, mulled wine, and bischoff were circulating all the time, and the ladies partook of that species of refreshment as often as the men. From this fact it will be understood that at the Bocal ball there was an enthusiasm which threatened to develop into wild revelry. Most of the ladies were as red as poppies; some of them laughed incessantly; others, who were presumably very sentimental in their cups, rolled their eyes in a languishing way that drove you back to your entrenchments; others, whom the punch made melancholy, heaved prodigious sighs and were damp about the eyes.

As for the men, they were almost all loquacious and noisy, and I believe that I might safely say, tipsy.

When I entered the ballroom the second time, I looked about for Balloquet. I discovered him sitting beside a brunette with a headdress of roses, whose cheeks were of a brilliancy and lustre that dimmed the hue of the flowers. Their conversation was so animated that the young doctor in embryo—for to that class Balloquet belonged—did not notice me, although I had planted myself directly in front of him.

I concluded to tap him on the shoulder.

"Monsieur Balloquet," said I, "I would be glad to say a word to you, if possible."

"It isn't possible at this moment. I am engaged. I am explaining to mademoiselle the proper method of applying leeches."

And Balloquet gave me a meaning glance. I understood that his interview had reached an interesting point, and I was about to walk away, when I felt a hand on my arm. It was the little marionette named Ravinet, who was trying to make fast to me, and shouting—for everybody in the room shouted instead of speaking:

"Ah! you're one of the landlord's guests; I recognize you. You're the man who polks so well! It's very polite of you to come back to us. You'll polk again, won't you? If you want to please Aunt Chalumeau, you'll invite her; poor, dear woman, she's never polked in her life, and she's dying to. Her hair dresser told her she had the right make-up."

I had no inclination whatever to put Aunt Chalumeau's make-up to the test, and I told Cousin Ravinet, who struck me as being well primed, and persisted in hanging on my arm:

"I will tell you in confidence that I shall not polk again for some time; I am very tired."

"Oh! that's a pity. Do you belong to the Opéra?"

"I? No, indeed!"

"Are you related to my cousin's landlord?"

"No; I am a friend of his."

"And that lady who was dancing with you don't belong to the Opéra, either?"

"By no means."

"We all thought you did. You jigged it so well!"

"Monsieur Ravinet——"

"Ah! you know my name!"

"I have that honor. Do me the favor to tell me what Monsieur Bocal's business is."

"What's that! don't you know my cousin?"

"I know that he's the bride's father, and that he's Monsieur Guillardin's tenant; that's all."

"What! you don't know Bocal the distiller's shop, on Rue Montmartre? He's one of the largest distillers in Paris."

"Ah! he's a distiller, is he?"

"Why, everybody knows him!"

"I must tell you that I very rarely have dealings with distillers."

"He's the man who makes the syrup of punch—that's a famous brew! Did you ever drink it?"

"No; and I am not anxious to."

"Oh! you must take some, and tell us what you think of it.—Come here quick, Cousin Bocal! I say! here's a gentleman from your landlord's party; he's never tasted your punch."

The stout man with the glassy eyes stopped at Cousin Ravinet's summons; then he came to me and gripped my other arm, saying with an effusiveness that scorched my cheeks, for he had the unpleasant habit of speaking within an inch of your nose:

"Ah! monsieur, you're one of my landlord's guests. Surely you won't insult me by joining us without taking something?—Here, waiter!"

"You are too good, Monsieur Bocal, but——"

"The punch is made with my syrup; it's perfumed, and sweetens your breath."

"That is what I was just saying to monsieur, cousin——"

"I say there! waiter!"

"Waiter! bring some punch! My cousin is calling you!"

Cousin Ravinet was determined to do his part. The two men held me so that I could not escape. A waiter arrived with a salver. I realized that I should get into serious difficulty if I refused; it would be quite likely to draw down upon me the wrath of Madame Girie, whom I spied in a corner, whispering with some other women. So I swallowed the glass of punch, hoping that I should be set free; but I was disappointed. Monsieur Bocal led me away toward his daughter Pétronille, saying:

"You must dance with the bride."

"It's a very great honor, but——"

"Oh! you must dance with her. My landlord refused to dance, but he's an elderly man. But a famous dancer, a zephyr, like you, can't refuse."

I did not know how to evade the honors with which I was overwhelmed. Monsieur Bocal had already said to his daughter:

"Pétronille, you're going to dance with monsieur—my landlord's friend."

"But, papa, I am going to dance with Freluchon."

"What do I care for Freluchon! I tell you, Pétronille, you're going to dance with monsieur; and you'll see how he dances. All you've got to do is stand straight——"

"But I promised poor Freluchon two hours ago, and he's gone to wash his hands on purpose, because he's lost his gloves; he'll be mad."

"For heaven's sake, Monsieur Bocal," said I, "don't let me interfere with your daughter's plans! I will dance with her later; I should be very sorry to offend anyone."

"On the contrary, monsieur, it will give me much pleasure," said Bocal. "I don't care a snap of my finger whether Freluchon's angry or not. The idea of putting ourselves out for him! Not much! You shall dance this dance with the bride. Hark! there goes the orchestra; take your places quick!"

Escape was impossible. What had I tumbled into? Those people were as obstinate as mules, and a refusal on my part would irritate them; people of little education are always extremely sensitive with fashionable persons, for they feel their inferiority; they are afraid of being laughed at, when no one has any idea of laughing at them.

I made the best of it and took my place beside the bride, who did not act as if she were overjoyed to dance with me and probably regretted Freluchon.

"Who's going to dance opposite the bride?" shouted Monsieur Bocal, in stentorian tones.

"I am! I am! here I am!"

And a tall, thin, bald-headed old man appeared, leading by the hand a girl of seven or eight. There was a vîs-à-vîs which would not afford me any distraction! I heard a muttering behind me, then groans, then Monsieur Bocal's voice above all the rest. It was probably Monsieur Freluchon, indignant to find that he had washed his hands for nothing.

The quadrille began. The bride went into it with all her heart; she was a buxom wench, who had made up her mind to let herself go on her wedding day, and was determined to do what she had set out to do. If only I did not get in the way of her feet, I felt that I should be lucky. The tall old man, who stood opposite her, danced with a zeal deserving of the greatest praise; he persisted in taking all the little steps and even essayed some leaps and bounds; the perspiration rolled down his face after the second figure, but he did not omit a step. He was a conscientious dancer, and would have been in great demand under the Empire. The little girl hopped about in every direction, and made a mess of every figure; she was always behind me when she should have been in front; but I was indifferent and let her wander about at her pleasure.

I was convinced that Cousin Ravinet had spread the information that I was a famous dancer, for there was a crowd about our set. The good people must have been sadly disappointed, as I did nothing but walk through the figures. Indeed, I heard some voices muttering: