ting with impatience for
the music to strike up for the last figure. Near the orchestra, Serge was
dancing with the Mayor's daughter opposite Micheline, whose partner was
the mayor himself. An air of joyful gravity lit up the municipal
officer's face. He was enjoying the honor which the Princess had done
him. His pretty young daughter, dressed, in her confirmation dress, which
had been lengthened with a muslin flounce, a rose in her hair, and her
hands encased in straw-colored one-button kid gloves, hardly dared raise
her eyes to the Prince, and with burning cheeks, answered in
monosyllables the few remarks Serge felt forced to address to her.

The orchestra bellowed, the floor shook; the two lines of dancers had
advanced in a body. Madame Desvarennes, leaning against the door-post,
followed with her eyes her daughter, whose light footsteps contrasted
strangely with the heavy tread of the women around her. The mayor, eager
and respectful, followed her, making efforts to keep up with her without
treading on her long train. It was,

"Excuse me, Madame la Princesse. If Madame la Princesse will do me the
honor to give me her hand, it is our turn to cross."

They had just crossed. Serge suddenly found himself facing his
mother-in-law. His face lit up, and he uttered a joyful exclamation.
Micheline raised her eyes, and following her husband's look, perceived
her mother. Then it was a double joy. With a mischievous wink, Serge
called Madame Desvarennes's attention to the mayor's solemn appearance as
he was galloping with Micheline, also the comical positions of the
rustics.

Micheline was smiling. She was enjoying herself. All this homely gayety,
of which she was the cause, made her feel happy. She enjoyed the pleasure
of those around her. With her compassionate eyes she thanked her mother
in the distance for having prepared this fete in honor of her marriage.
The clarionet, violin, and cornet sounded a last modulation, then the
final cadence put an end to the bounds of the dances. Each took his lady
to her place--the mayor with pompous gait, Serge with as much grace as if
he had been at an ambassador's ball and was leading a young lady of
highest rank.

Madame Desvarennes was suddenly surrounded; cheers resounded, the band
struck up the Marseillaise.

"Let us escape," said Serge, "because these good people will think
nothing of carrying us in triumph."

And leading away his mother-in-law and his wife, he left the ball