ad been hastily flung hoops, balls, and
mallets.

On their way Count Oscar condescendingly explained to Fred, as to a
novice, that the only good thing about croquet was that it brought men
and girls together. He was himself very good at games, he said, having
remarkably firm muscles and exceptionally sharp sight; but he went on to
add that he had not been able to show what he could do that day. The wet
sand did not make so good a croquet-ground as the one he had had made in
his park! It is a good thing to know one's ground in all circumstances,
but especially in playing croquet. Then, dexterously passing from the
game to the players, he went on to say, under cover of giving Fred a
warning, that a man need not fear going too far with those girls from
America--they had known how to flirt from the time they were born. They
could look out for themselves, they had talons and beaks; but up to a
certain point they were very easy to get on with. Those other players
were queer little things; the three sisters Wermant were not wanting in
chic, but, hang it!--the sweetest flower of them all, to his mind, was
the tall one, the dark one--unripe fruit in perfection! "And a year or
two hence," added M. de Talbrun, with all the self-confidence of an
expert, "every one will be talking about her in the world of society."

Poor Fred kept silent, trying to curb his wrath. But the blood mounted to
his temples as he listened to these remarks, poured into his ear by a man
of thirty-five, between puffs of his cigar, because there was nobody else
to whom he could make them. But they seemed to Fred very ill-mannered and
ill-timed. If he had not dreaded making himself absurd, he would gladly
have stood forth as the champion of the Sparks, the Wermants, and all the
other members of the Blue Band, so that he might give vent to the anger
raging in his heart on hearing that odious compliment to Jacqueline. Why
was he not old enough to marry her? What right had that detestable
Talbrun to take notice of any girl but his fiancee? If he himself could
marry now, his choice would soon be made! No doubt, later--as his mother
had said to him. But would Jacqueline wait? Everybody was beginning to
admire her. Somebody would carry her off--somebody would cut him out
while he was away at sea. Oh, horrible thought for a young lover!

That night, at the Casino, while dancing a quadrille with Giselle, he
could not refrain from saying to her, "Don't you object to M