“I said to Robert, ‘Let’s play bezique;’ and I was beaten by one of those streaks of bad luck—­34,000 points in a dozen games—­so thoroughly that towards half-past ten I thought that bezique had lasted long enough—­”

“And so—­”

“And so—­”

“So Robert wished to bring you to Mme. de Vernieux’s.  And you didn’t want to go!  If you hadn’t come, however, and if there had been a box at the Bouffes-Parisiens, or if you had won at bezique, my marriage with M. de Courtalin would have been publicly announced the next day.”

“Yes, but I came; and there I was in the corner looking at you, looking at you, looking at you.  It was you, and yet not you—­”

“I, immediately on seeing the way you were looking at me, understood that something extraordinary was going to happen.  Your eyes shone, burned, blazed!”

“Because I had discovered that you were simply the prettiest woman of the ball, where all the prettiest women of Paris were.  Yes, the prettiest, and such shoulders, such shoulders!”

“Ripe! in fact, I was ripe!”

“My head was turned at once.  I saw Courtalin manoeuvring and trying to get near you.  I understood that there was not a moment to be lost.  To reach there ahead of Courtalin I threw myself intrepidly into the midst of the room, among the waltzers, pushing and being pushed.  I forged a passage and tore into rags one of the lace flounces of Mme. de Lornans—­she hasn’t yet forgiven me.  But I got there—­I got there before Courtalin, and threw myself on you, and took you round your waist (I can still hear your little cry), and I dragged you off.”

“Mamma had scarcely time to scream ‘Marceline, Marceline!’ when I was there no more.  He had lifted me off, and carried me away; and we were waltzing wildly, furiously!—­oh, what a waltz!—­and he was saying to me:  ’I love you!  I adore you!  You are grace and beauty itself!  There is only one pretty woman here—­you; and it is I who will be your husband.  I, do you hear?  I, and not another!’ And I, quite suffocated with surprise, pleasure, and emotion, allowed myself to be nearly carried by him, but I kept begging him to speak lower.  ’Anything you wish; yes, I will be your wife; but take care—­you will be heard—­you will be heard.’”

“That is what I wished; and I continued, ‘I love you!  I adore you!’”

“Then I, absolutely breathless:  ’Not so fast.  I pray, not so fast; I shall fall.  I assure you everything is going round, everything is going round.  Let us stop.’  ’No, no; don’t let’s stop.  Keep on still.  If we stop your mother will separate us, and I have still so many things to say to you—­so many things, so many things.  Swear to me that you will be my wife.’  ‘Yes, I swear it; but enough, enough—­’ I was smothering.  He heard nothing.  He was going, going like a madman.  We had become a hurricane, a whirlwind, a cyclone.  We caused surprise and fright.  No one danced any more, but looked at us.  And he held me so close, and his face was so near my face, his lips so near my lips, that all at once I felt myself giving way.  I slipped, and let myself into his arms.  A cloud passed before my eyes; I could not speak nor think; then blankness.  Everything had disappeared before me in a vertigo not too disagreeable, I must say.  I had fainted, absolutely fainted.”