I have no need to say whether I allowed myself to be guided by my pretty brunette. We forced our way through the crowd, at the expense of a number of feet which came in our way; my partner held my hand, and I pressed the protecting hand with which she held it, so that it could not escape me.

We reached the door of the ballroom just as a lady, newly arrived, was coming in. My conductress rushed to meet her, dragged her into a small room set apart for those who wished to converse, and, still without releasing my hand, led her into a window recess, apart from everybody, and said to her, laying her hand on her arm:

"FrÉdÉrique, you have arrived in the nick of time to confer a great favor on monsieur, and on myself, who—who take an interest in monsieur."

"What must I do? Tell me, my dear Armantine. I am all ready."

"Listen: you know monsieur, you invited him to come to the wedding, where he was to ask for you; but as you had not arrived when he came, he didn't know to whom to apply. Now that you are here, you must introduce him. Do you understand?"

"Perfectly! it's the simplest thing in the world! Take my hand, monsieur, if you please; for, as I am to present you, you must be my escort, for a few moments at least."

"With great pleasure, madame!"

"How lucky it is that I came without an escort, and that my husband has catarrh! It's a true saying that good fortunes never come singly."

"You will condescend, then, madame, to——"

"Why, it's all arranged; I am delighted to do anything to oblige Armantine. By the way, your name, monsieur, if you please; for, if I am to present you, I must call you by name."

"Charles Rochebrune."

"Very good! An advocate, I suppose? All the young men are advocates."

"I am not in practice; but I studied for the bar."

"That is quite enough. Now, let us go into the ballroom."

My new acquaintance passed her arm through mine and leaned on it as if we had known each other for years. I felt altogether reassured; I walked with my head erect, my face had recovered its serenity, and I was no longer afraid to look about me.

My partner left us as we entered the ballroom, and the lady on my arm asked me in an undertone:

"Do you know my name?"

"I know only that one by which she called you just now."

"I am Madame Dauberny, eight years married; I am twenty-seven years old, and my husband forty-four; he is wealthy and has no business. He doesn't care for society, balls, etc., but I go about without him. I was born at Bordeaux, and my parents were of the same province. I think that you are well enough posted now, in case anyone should talk to you about me."

"Yes, madame; thanks a thousand times!"

What I especially admired was the ease and fluency with which my companion said all this to me as we walked through the crowd; I am certain that no one who saw her talking to me would have suspected that she had never seen me until that evening. But Monsieur Guillardin and the bride came forward to meet my protectress, and I saw the stout Archibald too, walking behind his sister, and continuing to scrutinize me closely while he saluted Madame Dauberny.

"How late you are!" cried the bride, taking my companion's hand.

"We were in despair!" said the venerable proboscis; "it is half-past twelve, and we were just saying that Madame Dauberny would not come, although she had promised to."

"And here I am, you see. I never break my promises. Ah! that makes Monsieur Archibald laugh; however, it is quite true, monsieur."

"I was laughing with pleasure at seeing you, madame."

"You are too polite, monsieur. But I am the more culpable for being so late, because I have caused sad embarrassment to an unfortunate young man to whom I had said that I would be here at eleven, and that he need only ask for me and I would present him. I refer to monsieur, who has been looking for me here nearly an hour, so he tells me; and, failing to find me, he didn't know to whom to appeal. Allow me to introduce Monsieur Charles Rochebrune, a distinguished advocate—and a mighty dancer. I thought that you would readily welcome a friend of my childhood."

At that, I made a profound bow to the bride and her father, and to the hulking Archibald, who condescended to smile upon me, while Monsieur Guillardin exclaimed:

"All friends of yours are welcome, fair lady! I trust that you do not doubt it. But I have already had the pleasure of making the acquaintance of monsieur, who appreciates my snuff. But I confess that I didn't know with whom I was talking, and I was just about to ask him, when he left me, to go and waltz. If he had told us that he came at your invitation, that would have been enough to ensure him a hearty welcome."

"You are too kind, Monsieur Guillardin, but Monsieur Rochebrune is quite as well pleased to have me here;—are you not, monsieur?"

"Yes, madame," I replied, with an expression that made Madame Dauberny smile; and it seemed to me that that smile caused Monsieur Archibald to make a wry face.

"But where is Monsieur DablÉmar? I don't see him anywhere."

Madame Dauberny had hardly asked the question, when a short man, dressed in good taste, but very slight and with an affected manner, came running toward us, crying:

"Ah! here she is at last, the one person we longed so to see, and of whose coming we had despaired! I must dance with you; I engage you for the next dance—that is to say, if you will deign to grant me that favor."

"We will see—later. I never dance as soon as I arrive; pray give me time to look about."

"My poor Anna has had to rest a little while; her brother trod on her foot; and he did well, too, for it is a good thing for her to rest: she was dancing too much, she——"

This gentleman, in whom I had no difficulty in discovering the bridegroom, stopped suddenly when he caught sight of me, evidently for the first time. My introductress, who had dropped my arm for a moment, took my hand and said to him:

"Monsieur Charles Rochebrune, a good friend of mine, whom I take the liberty to present to you."

Monsieur DablÉmar bowed to me, as courtesy required. Thus I had been well and duly introduced to the bride and groom and the bride's kindred; I was one of the wedding party, and I could walk about fearlessly through the salons.

Having no longer anything to fear on my own account, my first pleasurable occupation was to scrutinize at my leisure the woman who had so gallantly come forward to be my buckler, and who, although she did not know me, although she had never seen me, had been willing to take my arm and to present me to a numerous assemblage as a person whom she knew intimately. I realized that she had done it at the request of a friend, to whom, as well as to me, she undoubtedly thought that she was doing an important service; but, none the less, there was a flavor of audacity in the performance that pleased and charmed me. Was it devoted friendship? was it recklessness of disposition? was it eccentricity, originality? I had no idea as yet, but I was deeply indebted to the lady, for she had extricated me from a bad scrape.

In the first few moments after my introduction, I was too excited, too preoccupied, to think of examining the person who introduced me; all that I could say was that, at first glance, she seemed to have a very becoming air of originality. Now that my embarrassment had vanished, and Madame Dauberny was talking with the bride, I could venture to examine her.

The person whom my pretty partner had called FrÉdÉrique was rather above middle height, rather slender than stout, but exceedingly well formed, with a something brusque and cavalierish in her gait and her carriage which was wonderfully becoming to her; her foot, while not remarkably small, was well formed; she carried her head erect, and slightly thrown back, and often rested one hand on her hip, like a man.

Madame Dauberny was not precisely a pretty woman; indeed, one might have passed her without noticing her; but the more you looked at her, feature by feature, her charm inevitably grew upon you; for there was a great deal of expression in her very mobile countenance. She was a brunette in the fullest acceptation of the term; her hair was of such an intense black that it was almost blue; this is not a witticism; extremely black and glossy hair sometimes has a bluish tinge; but such hair is rarely seen.

Her eyes were very dark blue, well shaped, and with abundant lashes; she fixed them uncompromisingly upon the person with whom she was talking, and they seemed to defy you to make them look down or humble themselves before anyone on earth. They denoted a woman of strong character, an energetic woman. Shall I say, a passionate woman? I think that I should err: strong natures are able to hold their passions in check, instead of allowing themselves to be dominated by them, like—— But I must finish my portrait. Gracefully arched, heavy eyebrows—but not too heavy—surmounted those expressive eyes; the nose was a little large, but straight, and the nostrils, slightly dilated, opened but little more when she smiled. She had a large mouth, and her lips were rather thin; but the teeth were very white and regular. That mouth was well adapted to raillery and persiflage; and it was most eloquent in expressing contempt and anger.

Madame Dauberny was naturally pale, and even by candle light her skin was not white. She had an oval chin and a high forehead. So much for her features; but all these details give a very insufficient idea of the general effect of that unusual face. It was necessary to see her in order to understand her; in the short time that I spent in examining her, her face changed entirely three or four times.

There was one thing that pleased me greatly, and that was her accent, in which there was a faint suggestion of the Midi, which, to my mind, is fascinating in a woman. She had a well-modulated voice, like almost all those who are born on the banks of the Garonne; it was not soft, but the accent deprived it of anything like harshness. And then, it reminded me of a fascinating Bordelaise, whom I had loved dearly, and known such a short time! On the whole, I was decidedly flattered to be considered Madame Dauberny's friend. But that did not cause me to forget my agreeable partner, to whom also I was deeply indebted. I was anxious to learn something concerning the pretty brunette. I tried to make up my mind to ask her friend FrÉdÉrique about her.

At that moment, she came toward me and whispered as she took my arm:

"Will you be my escort once more?"

"Ah, madame! I am too happy that you deign to accept me as such."

"Let us make a few turns about the room, and I will finish my task of giving you such information as you need concerning the company; then you will be free to return to Armantine."

"Armantine? Oh, yes! that is the lady who spoke to you in my behalf?"

"To be sure. You know her, do you not?"

"Not at all. I never saw her before; but I had danced a quadrille and waltzed with her."

"Well! this is a little strong! And what was the source of her deep interest in you?"

"The fact that I had told her of a mad prank I had just committed; of which I will tell you as well, with your permission."

"I not only permit it, but I insist upon it; for, after all, it is well that I should know something about the friend of my childhood."

I told Madame Dauberny the story that I had previously told her friend. She listened attentively, without moving an eyebrow. Her impassiveness frightened me. But when I had finished, she shook her head and smiled slightly, murmuring:

"It was a little risquÉ! So your friend is at the other ball?"

"Yes, madame."

"And your friend's name is——?"

"Balloquet."

"What does he do?"

"He is a doctor."

"There's no great crime in all this, provided that you really are, as you say, an honorable man."

"Ah, madame!—this suspicion——"

"Is fully justified, it seems to me; for, after all, monsieur, you may be a very bad character, one of those young men who cannot be received in good society. You may have said to yourself: 'I'll go and have a little sport at the expense of all those people!'—What would there be surprising in that? Oh! what a face you are making! Be careful, or people will think that I am making a scene; and when a woman makes a scene with a man, it means that she has some claim upon him. You must see that your long face is compromising to me."

I was horribly vexed; certainly she had a right to suspect me; but the mocking tone she had assumed, her manner, which denoted anything but conviction, and the expression of her face, augmented my chagrin, and I did not know what to say. How could I prove to her that I had not lied?

At that moment, a man of some forty years, stylishly dressed, and not ill-looking, but with a vague and shifty look in his eyes, stopped in front of us and paid a compliment or two to the incredulous FrÉdÉrique. I glanced at the new-comer, whose face was not unfamiliar; he caught my eye and bowed to me very affably. I cannot describe the thrill of pleasure which that bow afforded me, although I did not know who had bestowed it upon me.

"Ah! do you know Monsieur Rochebrune?" Madame Dauberny inquired.

"Yes, madame, I have met monsieur several times in company, notably at GÉnÉral Traunitz's and at Madame de Saint-Albert's receptions."

"True," said I, searching my memory; "I remember very well having had the pleasure of meeting monsieur at those receptions."

"To tell the truth," rejoined Madame Dauberny, "I should have been surprised if Monsieur Sordeville had not known you, knowing all Paris as he does, and all that everyone is doing, all that takes place!"

"Oh, madame! you accredit me with much more knowledge than I possess," replied Monsieur Sordeville, smiling with what he intended for an affable expression, which accorded ill with the natural character of his face. "You are very late, madame; Armantine was distressed at your non-appearance; which, however, did not prevent her dancing. But Monsieur Rochebrune can tell you that, for I saw him waltzing with my wife, and very well, too, I assure you."

"What, monsieur! was it your wife with whom I had the pleasure of waltzing?"

"Yes, monsieur."

"Why, what extraordinary mortals you are!" cried Madame Dauberny, looking from one to the other, with an ironical expression. "You know each other, and yet monsieur does not know that it was Madame Sordeville with whom he waltzed?"

"What is there so surprising in that, madame? I have met Monsieur Rochebrune at parties to which my wife did not accompany me; that happens every day. Because one is married is no reason why one should not go out sometimes without his or her spouse; and I may say that you yourself are proving the truth of that statement this very evening."

Monsieur Sordeville said this in a meaning tone. Now that I knew that he was my charming partner's husband, I examined him more closely. He was very good-looking; his features were regular, and he had rather a distinguished face; but I was not attracted by it.

Meanwhile, Madame Dauberny had not remained passive under the little shaft Monsieur Sordeville had let fly at her; but I did not hear her rejoinder, because my pretty partner came up and took her husband's arm just as her friend was speaking to him.

"My dear Armantine," said my patroness, "you do not know, do you, that your husband is acquainted with Monsieur Rochebrune, whom I took the liberty of bringing to this festivity? He's a terrible man, is your husband; if I had undertaken to introduce anyone here under a false name, he would certainly have discovered the whole intrigue."

The pretty brunette smiled and blushed slightly; then she put her arm through her friend's and led her away, but not before I had whispered in Madame Dauberny's ear:

"Well! are you convinced now that I did not lie to you?"

"I never thought that you were lying," she replied, squeezing my hand as a man would do.

Monsieur Sordeville remained with me. He seemed inclined to continue the conversation, and I asked nothing better than to become more fully acquainted with the husband of a lady who pleased me exceedingly. For if he had a face which did not attract me, I was at liberty to think of his wife while I was talking with him.

"She is an extremely agreeable person—Madame Dauberny!" Monsieur Sordeville began.

"Yes, she is very agreeable; she seems to have much wit."

"Have you never before been in a position to judge of her wit?"

I bit my lips; I had said a stupid thing; but I hastened to add, in an off-hand tone:

"What I meant to say was that she has even more wit than she allows to appear on the surface."

"Ah! do you think so? I must say that it seems to me that she doesn't hide what wit she has."

I saw that I should have difficulty in extricating myself; when one has strayed into a bad road, it's the devil and all to get back to solid ground. And then, too, that Monsieur Sordeville had an embarrassing way of making one talk. The bride's brother happened to be passing us at that moment. He stopped and said to Monsieur Sordeville:

"Of whom are you speaking?"

"Madame Dauberny."

"Madame Dauberny! Oh! she's a gaillarde, she is!"

Monsieur Sordeville raised his eyebrows slightly as he replied:

"Hum! that word is a little strong!"

"Why so? I mean by gaillarde a decided character, which never bends, and does nothing except in accordance with its own desires; which takes its stand above a multitude of everyday prejudices, and snaps its fingers at what people will say. Indeed, Madame FrÉdÉrique—she prefers to be called that, you know, for she detests her husband's name—Madame FrÉdÉrique, I say, makes no bones of declaring that she does only what she pleases, and that she intends to do everything that she pleases. When a woman says that, I should say that one may well call her a gaillarde!"

Monsieur Sordeville smiled, and said simply:

"People say so many things that they don't do! Sometimes, it is to obtain a reputation for originality."

"And you, monsieur," continued Archibald, turning to me, "you, who are one of Madame FrÉdÉrique's early friends, do not you share the opinion of her which I have just expressed?"

I saw that Monsieur Sordeville was covertly watching me, and I replied, measuring my words:

"Since I have had the honor of knowing Madame Dauberny, monsieur, I have always recognized in her the possessor of many invaluable qualities, and a keen wit, slightly satirical perhaps; as for her faults, I know of none; but clever people are becoming so scarce that they may well pass for originals."

My interlocutors held their peace. Monsieur Sordeville shook his head, and Monsieur Archibald pursed his lips. The orchestra played the prelude to a quadrille. I determined to perform a noble deed, which would put me on good terms with the bride's family: I invited Mademoiselle Joliette to dance.

The ugly child accepted with unbounded delight. While we were dancing, I saw Madame Dauberny looking at me with a smile that seemed to say:

"That's a very clever thing you are doing."

For my own part, I hoped to reward myself in the next quadrille by inviting the seductive Armantine.

But while we were executing the final figure, a great uproar suddenly arose outside the door; people were shouting and quarrelling in the corridor, and I fancied that I recognized Balloquet's voice. Either he had not been so fortunate as I, or he had been guilty of some imprudence. I ran in the direction of the outcry.