Adjoining the ballroom, a merry-go-round; which had been the delight of the village urchins all day, appealed for custom by the aid of a barrel-organ on which a woman in a white bodice was playing the waltz from ‘Les Cloches de Corneville’.

The animation of this fete, in the midst of which Madame Desvarennes suddenly appeared, was a happy diversion from the serious thoughts which beset her.  She remembered that Serge and Micheline must be there.  She came from under the shadow of the avenue into the full light.  On recognizing her, all the workpeople, who were seated, rose.  She was really mistress and lady of the place.  And then she had fed these people since morning.  With a sign she bade them be seated, and walking quickly toward the dancing-room, lifted the red and white cotton curtain which hung over the entrance.

There, in a space of a hundred square yards or so, about a hundred and fifty people were sitting or standing.  At the end, on a stage, were the musicians, each with a bottle of wine at his feet, from which they refreshed themselves during the intervals.  An impalpable dust, raised by the feet of the dancers, filled the air charged with acrid odors.  The women in light dresses and bareheaded, and the men arrayed in their Sunday clothes, gave themselves up with frantic ardor to their favorite pleasure.

Ranged in double rows, vis-a-vis, they were waiting with impatience for the music to strike up for the last figure.  Near the orchestra, Serge was dancing with the Mayor’s daughter opposite Micheline, whose partner was the mayor himself.  An air of joyful gravity lit up the municipal officer’s face.  He was enjoying the honor which the Princess had done him.  His pretty young daughter, dressed, in her confirmation dress, which had been lengthened with a muslin flounce, a rose in her hair, and her hands encased in straw-colored one-button kid gloves, hardly dared raise her eyes to the Prince, and with burning cheeks, answered in monosyllables the few remarks Serge felt forced to address to her.

The orchestra bellowed, the floor shook; the two lines of dancers had advanced in a body.  Madame Desvarennes, leaning against the door-post, followed with her eyes her daughter, whose light footsteps contrasted strangely with the heavy tread of the women around her.  The mayor, eager and respectful, followed her, making efforts to keep up with her without treading on her long train.  It was,

“Excuse me, Madame la Princesse.  If Madame la Princesse will do me the honor to give me her hand, it is our turn to cross.”

They had just crossed.  Serge suddenly found himself facing his mother-in-law.  His face lit up, and he uttered a joyful exclamation.  Micheline raised her eyes, and following her husband’s look, perceived her mother.  Then it was a double joy.  With a mischievous wink, Serge called Madame Desvarennes’s attention to the mayor’s solemn appearance as he was galloping with Micheline, also the comical positions of the rustics.