There were heirs of dethroned kings; princes without portions, who were called Highness, and who had not the income of their fathers’ former chamberlains; millionaires sprung from nothing, who made a great show and who would have given half of their possessions for a single quartering of the arms of these great lords whom they affected to despise.

Serge and Cayrol went from group to group; the one with his graceful and delicate elegance; the other with his good-humor, radiant and elated by the consciousness of his triumphs.  Herzog had just arrived, accompanied by his daughter, a charming girl of sixteen, to whim Marechal had offered his arm.  A whispering was heard when Herzog passed.  He was accustomed to the effect which he produced in public, and quite calmly congratulated Cayrol.

Serge had just introduced Micheline to Count Soutzko, a gray-haired old gentleman of military appearance, whose right sleeve was empty.  He was a veteran of the Polish wars, and an old friend of Prince Panine’s, at whose side he had received the wounds which had so frightfully mutilated him.  Micheline, smiling, was listening to flattering tales which the old soldier was relating about Serge.  Cayrol, who had got rid of Herzog, was looking for Jeanne, who had just disappeared in the direction of the terrace.

The rooms were uncomfortably warm, and many of the visitors had found their way to the terraces.  Along the marble veranda, overlooking the lake, chairs had been placed.  The ladies, wrapped in their lace scarfs, had formed into groups and were enjoying the delights of the beautiful evening.  Bursts of subdued laughter came from behind fans, while the gentlemen talked in whispers.  Above all this whispering was heard the distant sound of the cornet at the peasants’ ball.

Leaning over the balustrade, in a shady corner, far from the noise which troubled him and far from the fete which hurt him, Pierre was dreaming.  His eyes were fixed on the illuminations in the park, but he did not see them.  He thought of his vanished hopes.  Another was beloved by Micheline, and in a few hours he would take her away, triumphant and happy.  A great sadness stole over the young man’s spirit; he was disgusted with life and hated humanity.  What was to become of him now?  His life was shattered; a heart like his could not love twice, and Micheline’s image was too deeply engraven on it for it ever to be effaced.  Of what use was all the trouble he had taken to raise himself above others?  A worthless fellow had passed that way and Micheline had yielded to him.  Now it was all over!