“I beg of you, my Bichette.”

Then she roughly broke out: 

“You know what I said to you.  If you are not satisfied the door is open.  No one wishes to keep you.  As for myself, I have promised; I shall go.”

He placed his two elbows upon the table, covered his face with his hands and remained there pondering sorrowfully.

The boat people came down again, bawling as usual.  They set off in their vessels for the ball at La Grenonillere.

Madeleine said to Paul: 

“If you are not coming, say so, and I will ask one of these gentlemen to take me.”

Paul rose: 

“Let us go!” murmured he.

And they left.

The night was black, full of stars, overpowered by a burning air, by oppressive breaths of wind, burdened with heat and emanations, with living germs, which, mixed with the breeze, destroyed its freshness.  It imparted to the face a heated caress, made one breathe more quickly, gasp a little, so thick and heavy did it seem.  The boats started on their way bearing venetian lanterns at the prow.  It was not possible to distinguish the craft, but only these little colored lights, swift and dancing up and down like glow-worms in a fit; and voices sounded from all sides in the shade.  The young people’s skiff glided gently along.  Now and then, when a fast boat passed near them, they could, for a moment, see the white back of the rower, lit up by his lantern.

When they turned the elbow of the river, La Grenonillere appeared to them in the distance.  The establishment, en fete, was decorated with sconces, with colored garlands draped with clusters of lights.  On the Seine some great barges moved about slowly, representing domes, pyramids and elaborate erections in fires of all colors.  Illuminated festoons hung right down to the water, and sometimes a red or blue lantern, at the end of an immense invisible fishing-rod, seemed like a great swinging star.

All this illumination spread a light around the cafe, lit up the great trees on the bank, from top to bottom, the trunks of which stood out in pale gray and the leaves in a milky green upon the deep black of the fields and the heavens.  The orchestra, composed of five suburban artists, flung far its public-house ball-music, poor and jerky, which caused Madeleine to sing anew.

She desired to enter at once.  Paul desired first to take a turn on the island, but he was obliged to give way.  The attendance was more select.  The boatmen, always alone, remained with some thinly scattered citizens, and some young men flanked by girls.  The director and organizer of this can-can majestic, in a jaded black suit, walked about in every direction, his head laid waste by his old trade of purveyor of public amusements, at a cheap rate.

The large Pauline and her companions were not there; and Paul breathed again.

They danced; couples opposite each other, capered in the most distracted manner, throwing their legs in the air, until they were upon a level with the noses of their partners.