sler walked straight to the corner
where she sat and compelled Sidonie to sit beside her. Needless to say
that it was Madame "Chorche." To whom else would he have spoken with such
affectionate respect? In what other hand than hers could he have placed
his little Sidonie's, saying: "You will love her dearly, won't you? You
are so good. She needs your advice, your knowledge of the world."

"Why, my dear Risler," Madame Georges replied, "Sidonie and I are old
friends. We have reason to be fond of each other still."

And her calm, straightforward glance strove unsuccessfully to meet that
of her old friend.

With his ignorance of women, and his habit of treating Sidonie as a
child, Risler continued in the same tone:

"Take her for your model, little one. There are not two people in the
world like Madame Chorche. She has her poor father's heart. A true
Fromont!"

Sidonie, with her eyes cast down, bowed without replying, while an
imperceptible shudder ran from the tip of her satin shoe to the topmost
bit of orange-blossom in her crown. But honest Risler saw nothing. The
excitement, the dancing, the music, the flowers, the lights made him
drunk, made him mad. He believed that every one breathed the same
atmosphere of bliss beyond compare which enveloped him. He had no
perception of the rivalries, the petty hatreds that met and passed one
another above all those bejewelled foreheads.

He did not notice Delobelle, standing with his elbow on the mantel, one
hand in the armhole of his waistcoat and his hat upon his hip, weary of
his eternal attitudinizing, while the hours slipped by and no one thought
of utilizing his talents. He did not notice M. Chebe, who was prowling
darkly between the two doors, more incensed than ever against the
Fromonts. Oh! those Fromonts!--How large a place they filled at that
wedding! They were all there with their wives, their children, their
friends, their friends' friends. One would have said that one of
themselves was being married. Who had a word to say of the Rislers or the
Chebes? Why, he--he, the father, had not even been presented!--And the
little man's rage was redoubled by the attitude of Madame Chebe, smiling
maternally upon one and all in her scarab-hued dress.

Furthermore, there were at this, as at almost all wedding-parties, two
distinct currents which came together but without mingling. One of the
two soon gave place to the other. The Fromonts, who irritated Monsieur
Chebe so muc