There was an oldish girl next to him whom he knew; she has coiffed St. Catherine for several years now, and was put at our table, I believe, to be a kind of chaperon.  She happened to be listening just then, as her partner would talk to Victorine’s friend—­the pretty one with the dirty nails—­who was at his other side.  She caught the word “fleas,” and at once asked what we were talking about.  “Un sujet si desagreable,” she said.  I said it was about our journey on the Sauterelle, where, at Vernon, Monsieur de la Tremors had been so badly bitten by the fleas that they had given him silly dreams.  He said his dreams were as beautiful as those produced by the Hachis of Monte Cristo (whatever that is), so the old girl exclaimed, “Quel pouvoir pour une puce!” She thought we were mad; and I overheard her presently telling her partner—­when she could get him to listen—­that no one would believe the bizarre conversations of the toques English unless they actually heard them!

[Sidenote:  The Cotillon]

I would not say I would dance the cotillon with the Vicomte.  I told him I had half promised it to the Marquis; and when he seemed offended, I said if he was going to be disagreeable I would certainly dance it with Monsieur de Beaupre (the Marquis’s name, which I forgot to tell you before).  I remember hearing Octavia say once that it never did to make oneself easy to young men, that the more capricious one was the better; and you know how nice Octavia is, and I meant to be like her.  He went on imploring; so I told him that I had come there to enjoy myself, not to amuse him, so I should just dance with whom I pleased, or not at all if I happened not to want to.  He said I was “tres cruelle,” and looked perfectly wobbly-eyed at me, but I did not mind a bit.

As dinner went on all the girls began to talk and to get excited, and laugh, and every one was so gay; but I could see Godmamma craning her neck with anxiety and disapproval, and I am sure, if it had not been for the Princesse d’Hauterine being at her table, she would have jumped up and clawed Victorine away.  It came to an end at last, and we returned arm-in-arm to the house, while the servants arranged the pavilion for the cotillon.  Godmamma collected Victorine and me, and made us stay by her; and that horrid old Mme. de Visac—­the one who called me a “jeune femme”—­came up, and they had a conversation.  Godmamma said it was “tres imprudent” having the dinner first, that the champagne would go to the young men’s heads, and with all the care in the world no one could foresee the consequences!  The garden, too!  If they should dance the farandole! what opportunities!  It was all the fault of the chere Baronne, so sadly giddy for her age.  She never thought of the anxieties of other mothers, having married her only daughter so young!  I don’t know what Godmamma feared, but I should hate to think you could not trust me to behave like a lady, Mamma, if I was out of your sight a moment.