ew quadrille was putting everybody in motion.

With an air of making room for the dancing, the Baron leaned back
against the marble slab of a console, folded his arms, and stood
absorbed in watching the two ladies talking. From time to time he
followed the glances which both frequently directed to the stranger.
Then, comparing the Countess with the new beauty, made so attractive
by a touch of mystery, the Baron fell a prey to the detestable
self-interest common to adventurous lady-killers; he hesitated between a
fortune within his grasp and the indulgence of his caprice. The blaze
of light gave such strong relief to his anxious and sullen face, against
the hangings of white silk moreen brushed by his black hair, that he
might have been compared to an evil genius. Even from a distance more
than one observer no doubt said to himself, "There is another poor
wretch who seems to be enjoying himself!"

The Colonel, meanwhile, with one shoulder leaning lightly against the
side-post of the doorway between the ballroom and the cardroom, could
laugh undetected under his ample moustache; it amused him to look on at
the turmoil of the dance; he could see a hundred pretty heads turning
about in obedience to the figures; he could read in some faces, as
in those of the Countess and his friend Martial, the secrets of their
agitation; and then, looking round, he wondered what connection there
could be between the gloomy looks of the Comte de Soulanges, still
seated on the sofa, and the plaintive expression of the fair unknown,
on whose features the joys of hope and the anguish of involuntary dread
were alternately legible. Montcornet stood like the king of the feast.
In this moving picture he saw a complete presentment of the world, and
he laughed at it as he found himself the object of inviting smiles from
a hundred beautiful and elegant women. A Colonel of the Imperial Guard,
a position equal to that of a Brigadier-General, was undoubtedly one of
the best matches in the army.

It was now nearly midnight. The conversation, the gambling, the dancing,
the flirtations, interests, petty rivalries, and scheming had
all reached the pitch of ardor which makes a young man exclaim
involuntarily, "A fine ball!"

"My sweet little angel," said Madame de Lansac to the Countess, "you are
now at an age when in my day I made many mistakes. Seeing you are just
now enduring a thousand deaths, it occurred to me that I might give you
some charitable a