“Are you not going to take anything?” he asked.  And the trivial question cloaked so earnest an entreaty that her heart was filled with profound emotion.  She knew well enough that each of his words was eloquent of another thing.  The excitement springing from the gaiety which pulsed around her was slowly gaining on her.  Some of the fever of all these little folks, now dancing and shouting, coursed in her own veins.  With flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes, she at first declined.

“No, thank you, nothing at all.”

But he pressed her, and in the end, ill at ease and anxious to get rid of him, she yielded.  “Well, then, a cup of tea.”

He hurried off and returned with the cup, his hands trembling as he handed it to her.  While she was sipping the tea he drew nearer to her, his lips quivering nervously with the confession springing from his heart.  She in her turn drew back from him, and, returning him the empty cup, made her escape while he was placing it on a sideboard, thus leaving him alone in the dining-room with Mademoiselle Aurelie, who was slowly masticating, and subjecting each dish in succession to a close scrutiny.

Within the drawing-room the piano was sending forth its loudest strains, and from end to end of the floor swept the ball with its charming drolleries.  A circle of onlookers had gathered round the quadrille party with which Lucien and Jeanne were dancing.  The little marquis became rather mixed over the figures; he only got on well when he had occasion to take hold of Jeanne; and then he gripped her by the waist and whirled around.  Jeanne preserved her equilibrium, somewhat vexed by his rumpling her dress; but the delights of the dance taking full possession of her, she caught hold of him in her turn and lifted him off his feet.  The white satin coat embroidered with nosegays mingled with the folds of the gown woven with flowers and strange birds, and the two little figures of old Dresden ware assumed all the grace and novelty of some whatnot ornaments.  The quadrille over, Helene summoned Jeanne to her side, in order to rearrange her dress.

“It is his fault, mamma,” was the little one’s excuse.  “He rubs against me—­he’s a dreadful nuisance.”

Around the drawing-room the faces of the parents were wreathed with smiles.  As soon as the music began again all the little ones were once more in motion.  Seeing, however, that they were observed they felt distrustful, remained grave, and checked their leaps in order to keep up appearances.  Some of them knew how to dance; but the majority were ignorant of the steps, and their limbs were evidently a source of embarrassment to them.  But Pauline interposed:  “I must see to them!  Oh, you little stupids!”