et at a ball given
by Madame de Fischtaminel, and the following conversation took place in
a window-seat in the boudoir.

It was so hot that a man had acted upon the idea of going to breathe
the fresh night air, some time before the two young women. He had placed
himself in the angle of the balcony, and, as there were many flowers
before the window, the two friends thought themselves alone. This man
was the author's best friend.

One of the two ladies, standing at the corner of the embrasure, kept
watch by looking at the boudoir and the parlors. The other had so placed
herself as not to be in the draft, which was nevertheless tempered by
the muslin and silk curtains.

The boudoir was empty, the ball was just beginning, the gaming-tables
were open, offering their green cloths and their packs of cards still
compressed in the frail case placed upon them by the customs office. The
second quadrille was in progress.

All who go to balls will remember that phase of large parties when the
guests are not yet all arrived, but when the rooms are already filled--a
moment which gives the mistress of the house a transitory pang of
terror. This moment is, other points of comparison apart, like that
which decides a victory or the loss of a battle.

You will understand, therefore, how what was meant to be a secret now
obtains the honors of publicity.

"Well, Caroline?"

"Well, Stephanie?"

"Well?"

"Well?"

A double sigh.

"Have you forgotten our agreement?"

"No."

"Why haven't you been to see me, then?"

"I am never left alone. Even here we shall hardly have time to talk."

"Ah! if Adolphe were to get into such habits as that!" exclaimed
Caroline.

"You saw us, Armand and me, when he paid me what is called, I don't know
why, his court."

"Yes, I admired him, I thought you very happy, you had found your ideal,
a fine, good-sized man, always well dressed, with yellow gloves, his
beard well shaven, patent leather boots, a clean shirt, exquisitely
neat, and so attentive--"

"Yes, yes, go on."

"In short, quite an elegant man: his voice was femininely sweet, and
then such gentleness! And his promises of happiness and liberty! His
sentences were veneered with rosewood. He stocked his conversation with
shawls and laces. In his smallest expression you heard the rumbling of a
coach and four. Your wedding presents were magnificent. Armand seemed to
me like a husband of velvet, of a robe of birds' feathers in which yo