As I stepped out into the hall which separated the two ballrooms, the dispute seemed to be growing warmer. I could distinguish Balloquet's voice perfectly, shouting:

"Once more, messieurs, I tell you it's a mistake, a simple mistake. What the devil! any man may be mistaken. I mistook one party for the other. Wedding parties are a good deal alike, as a rule, especially after the dancing begins. There's not enough harm done to whip a cat for."

The waiters did their utmost to restore peace, testifying that Balloquet had dined upstairs with some most respectable gentlemen.

I succeeded in forcing my way through the crowd. I saw a number of grotesque faces, which would not have been out of place in the Charivari's caricatures. Most of the men had retained beneath their gala dress the vulgur or stupid air which the finest coat cannot conceal. They were all very hot against poor Balloquet, who was as red as a cherry and gesticulating in the midst of them like one possessed. A stout man of some fifty years, whose eyes looked as if they were made of glass, they were so expressionless and so protruding, held him by the arm and kept repeating:

"You don't get off like this, bigre! You either belong here or you don't, that's all! Proofs! proofs! I want proofs!"

A tall, fair-haired young man, with a weak, stupid face, and hair brushed flat over his forehead almost to his eyebrows, seemed to be threatening Balloquet, as he said:

"And what did you do to my wife? tell me that! Did you or didn't you? PÉtronille ain't capable of lying about it. She told me you pinched her! That's a pretty way to do—pinch the bride, when you don't belong in the party! If you'd been invited to the wedding—but that wouldn't be any excuse."

"I was dancing, monsieur le mariÉ; my hand may have gone astray. If I did pinch her anywhere, I thought it was part of the figure, and——"

"Oh! that's a good one! that don't seem reasonable!"

"But, monsieur, you don't understand."

"You don't get off like that, bigre!" cried the fat man with the glassy eyes; "proofs! proofs! proofs!"

At that moment, to add to the uproar, a corpulent dame of at least sixty years of age, with a flat nose, smeared with snuff, her face encircled by a flaxen false front, the curls of which, artistically grouped in terraces, made her look as if she wore whiskers, and overladen with flowers, ribbons, lace, and false jewelry, appeared in the midst of the men, crying in a shrill voice:

"I don't want Pamphile to fight! I forbid him to fight! What's it all about? You shan't fight, Pamphile—I'd sooner fight myself, in my son's place. O my son, I'm your mother, or I ain't your mother! Monsieur's an intruder, a villain, a blackguard. Throw him out of doors! Call the watch!"

"No, madame, I am not a villain," retorted Balloquet, glaring savagely at the old woman, who was bedizened like a circus horse; "and I'll prove it."

"Go back to the ballroom, Madame Girie; this is no place for you; we don't need a woman's help to settle this business."

"I tell you, I don't want my son to fight!—Come, Pamphile, come back with me; don't get mixed up in this row."

"Oh! do let me alone, mamma! Go back with the other ladies."

"No! no! I don't want you to fight because monsieur pinched your wife. Mon Dieu! what a terrible thing! In the first place, PÉtronille had no business to tell you of it. God! if the late Girie had fought every time anyone pinched me! But I didn't tell him! I took good care not to complain! I was too fond of my husband to do that; and he—oh! he loved his lovely blonde! You ought to hand monsieur over to the watch.—Watch! watch!"

Madame Girie persisted in shrieking: "Watch!" waving her arms, striking everybody within reach, and increasing the confusion immeasurably by trying to restore peace.

It was at that moment that I succeeded in reaching Balloquet's side, and released him from the man with the glassy eyes.

"What's all this, messieurs?" I exclaimed.—"What has happened to you, my dear Balloquet? Why are all these people so incensed with you?"

Balloquet uttered a cry of joy at sight of me, and cast a haughty glance at his adversaries, saying:

"You see that I didn't lie to you, messieurs; here's my friend, who is a guest at the other wedding and has come in search of me.—Isn't it true, Rochebrune, that you have come to fetch me, and that I am Arthur Balloquet, medical practitioner, and that I am not the sort of man to be turned out of doors?"

"Proofs! proofs! proofs!"

"I don't want my son to fight!—Listen to your mother, Pamphile!"

"You pinched PÉtronille; I stick to that!"

"But I made a mistake!"

"Watch!"

"In God's name, Madame Girie, be good enough to hold your tongue!"

A small man, whom I had not yet seen, as he was hidden by the crowd, succeeded in passing his perfectly curled blonde head under Madame Girie's ear rings, and said, gesticulating freely after the manner of Mr. Punch, for he bore a strong resemblance to a marionette:

"Allow me! allow me! we must try to understand each other. Monsieur says he came to my cousin Pamphile Girie's wedding party by mistake; but a mistake like that don't last an hour, and monsieur's been with us more than an hour. I noticed him; he drank punch every minute; he made more noise than all the rest of the company, and I said to myself: 'That man's a boute-en-train![A] Oh! he's a famous boute-en-train!' But monsieur must have discovered that he didn't know us; that the bride and groom were not the ones who invited him. It seems to me that that's good, logical reasoning. I'm a logical man!"

The little automaton was not such a fool as one would have supposed at first sight. Balloquet was at a loss for a reply to his speech. I made haste to take the floor.

"Messieurs, my friend Arthur Balloquet has not deceived you; he is a most estimable physician, and incapable of offending you intentionally. He mistook the salon, that is all; you must not see anything more in the affair than there really is in it."

"And I was so comfortable where I was," said Balloquet, "that I could not make up my mind to go away."

This compliment allayed the ferocity of the vitreous-eyed gentleman. However, he was about to repeat his demand for proofs, when, on turning his head, he saw Monsieur Guillardin, who had come out to ascertain the cause of the uproar, accompanied by Madame Dauberny. She came to my side and whispered:

"I presume that your friend Balloquet has been putting his foot in it?"

As I said yes with my eyes, we heard a cry of surprise:

"Why, there's Monsieur Guillardin—my landlord!"

"Himself, Monsieur Bocal. What are you doing here, pray?"

"What am I doing? Why, I am marrying my daughter PÉtronille to Monsieur Girie here.—Come forward, Girie; come, I say, and speak to my landlord, to whom I sent cards, I am sure."

The tall, fair-haired youth came forward with the loutish air that never left him, and bowed sheepishly to Monsieur Guillardin. This incident produced a fortunate diversion; attention was diverted from Balloquet, although Madame Girie continued to mutter:

"Oh! if my son should fight, I should be sick three times over! But he shan't go out, or, if he does, I'll follow him! I'm capable of anything where Pamphile's concerned. When he ain't home at eleven o'clock or twelve, I go and sit at the window, and there I sit all night, till he comes home. When I hear a horse, I says: 'There's my son.'—Sometimes I don't have anything on but three undervests and two chemises! but I don't care; I snap my fingers at the risk of catching cold!"

But nobody listened to Madame Girie. Monsieur Guillardin, having acknowledged the salutations of Monsieur Bocal and long-legged Pamphile, said to the former:

"Faith! my dear monsieur, this is a curious coincidence. I'm here for the same purpose that you are."

"I don't understand."

"I have married my daughter to-day, and we're celebrating the occasion right beside you here."

"Is that so? can it be possible? This other wedding party is yours? I mean, that you're marrying your daughter—no, giving her in marriage?"

"Yes, monsieur," interposed Madame Dauberny; "and I have been waiting a long while for Monsieur Balloquet to ask me to dance. I told him that I should be at Mademoiselle Guillardin's wedding."

Balloquet stared in amazement when that lady, whom he did not know, called him by name; but he replied at once:

"I am at your service, madame; but, you see, I was trying to explain matters to these gentlemen, and——"

"Oh! that's all over! let's not say any more about that!" cried Bocal, grasping Balloquet's hand. "If I had had any idea that you were invited to my landlord's wedding party!—Madame, messieurs, we shall be much flattered if you will honor us with your presence, if you will deign to come to our ball.—I beg you, Monsieur Guillardin, to do me that honor. Let me present PÉtronille—Pamphile, go and call PÉtronille.—Come, madame and messieurs, pray take a turn at our ball.—Cousin Ravinet, make our friends stand aside and make room for my landlord."

Cousin Ravinet was the little man who talked like Mr. Punch; he rushed into the room where Monsieur Girie's wedding was being celebrated, crying:

"Here comes my cousin's landlord! He's coming to our party. Bocal's bringing him.—A little music, please. I say there, you in the orchestra!"

The musicians supposed that he was calling for dance music, and they began to play a polka. Monsieur Guillardin, impelled almost by force by his tenant Monsieur Bocal, found himself in the ballroom at the rear. Madame Dauberny and I followed him, as did Balloquet, the latter being escorted almost in triumph by the bridegroom, who had taken his arm.

"You ought to have told us right off that you were a friend—a friend of friends of ours," said Girie. "Then we wouldn't have quarrelled. As you're invited to the party of my father-in-law Bocal's landlord, why, give me your hand! I must insist on your dancing the next dance with PÉtronille."

"You're too kind, Monsieur Girie. As for the mistake I made in pinching your good wife——"

"Nonsense! don't say any more about that! It was a joke—just a joke! Look you, if you're a good fellow, you'll stay with us—as long as you're enjoying yourself. Now we know each other, we'll have some sport; we'll raise the deuce. It's agreed, ain't it? You stay with us; and at supper I'll take good care of you."

"What's that? you're going to have a supper?"

"Parbleu! I should say so! What does a party amount to without supper? You'll stay, won't you?"

"Faith! Monsieur Pamphile, you are so kind—your company is so lively; I'm tempted to let the landlord's party go by the board."

Madame Dauberny and I were walking behind them, and heard every word of their conversation. She had taken my arm as if we were old acquaintances, and she said in an undertone:

"It will be fortunate if your friend Balloquet stays here, for I think that he's a little exhilarated, and if he should come to Anna's ball he might say something that would compromise us by betraying our little fraud."

"You are entirely right, madame; but you need have no fear: Balloquet will stay here. He has been told of a supper to come, and he is one of those persons who never refuse a meal, even when they have had four during the day."

"That speaks well for his digestion.—Mon Dieu! just look: I believe that they propose to make us dance now. Monsieur Bocal is trying to induce his landlord to polk. It must be that the man's lease is nearing its end, and he wants to renew it."

The music had, in fact, excited Monsieur Bocal, who deemed it his duty to walk in step and was almost polking when he presented his landlord to his daughter PÉtronille, who was a plump, chubby-cheeked wench, very fresh and red, with no other recommendation than her youth.

Monsieur Guillardin took out his snuffbox and offered it to the bride, who muttered:

"Snuff! Sneeze all the time I'm dancing! I guess not! And I haven't got a handkerchief, either."

"Do you polk?" Madame FrÉdÉrique asked me.

"Yes, madame."

"Very well; then let us take a turn. I prefer to make my entry dancing; it will be more amusing. Indeed, I see some faces already that make me long to laugh. Come, monsieur, they say that you waltz beautifully; let us see if you polk as well."

We started off. I was in luck that evening: after an excellent waltzer, I found myself with a partner who polked to perfection. We danced forward and backward, and turned in every direction. Our manner of dancing seemed to arouse the admiration of the company, for I heard people say as we passed:

"Look! there's a couple who dance pretty well!"

"Just look at those two; see what pretty steps they take!"

"Who are those people?"

"They belong to the party in front, the wedding party of Monsieur Bocal's landlord's daughter; Monsieur Bocal invited them."

"They polk mighty well; they must be ballet dancers at least."

"I'll bet they belong to the OpÉra."

Madame Dauberny heard this last. She laughed heartily, but that did not interfere with her running comments on the wedding guests:

"Look at that couple yonder; for ten minutes they have been in the same spot; they are trying to polk, and can't go forward or back.—You will notice a tall woman in pink, in the corner at our left, with a garland of green leaves on her head; she has struck the attitude of a caryatid, and seems disposed to weep.—And see those two ladies, or demoiselles, polking together, and bumping into everybody.—And that little man hopping about with a tall partner."

"That's Cousin Ravinet."

"On my word, there are some sweet caricatures here! There are some very good-looking girls, but they look like grisettes; probably that's all they are. I am very curious to know what Monsieur Bocal's business is."

The music stopped. The heat was stifling in the ballroom.

"I have had enough of it," said Madame Dauberny; "besides, I believe that Monsieur Guillardin has returned to his daughter. Take me back to the other party; then you may return here, if you choose."

"I beg you to believe, madame, that I too prefer the company of which you are one."

"I believe you; I should be sorry for you if it were otherwise. But you must return and speak to your friend Balloquet. Balloquet! you must agree that that is a singular name for a physician. If I were ill, I would never put myself in the hands of a doctor named Balloquet!"

"So you think that the name is of some consequence, do you, madame?"

"Much, monsieur; if your name had been Balloquet, I could never have made up my mind to say that you were a friend of my girlhood."

While we talked, we had returned to the Guillardin party, of which I was now a duly accredited member. But as a quadrille was beginning just as we entered the ballroom, Madame Dauberny seated herself by the door, and I stood beside her, delighted to be able to continue my conversation with the amiable FrÉdÉrique; for to my mind she was extremely amiable, and if I had not been in love with her friend Armantine—— But it is so pleasant to be in love, even when it amounts to nothing, and vastly more so when it may amount to something. I was still in the dark as to how it would be with my new passion; but one is always at liberty to hope.

"I am under great obligations to you, madame, for what you have done for me to-night."

"Mon Dieu! you have already expressed your gratitude, monsieur! I trust that I shall hear no more of it."

"You know now, madame, that I have sometimes met Monsieur Sordeville in society; but that is not enough for me. I should be glad to make myself known to you more fully; and if you will allow me to call and pay my respects to you——"

Madame Dauberny looked at me a moment with a strange expression; I would have liked to know what was passing through her mind; but she soon replied, with her deliberate air:

"No, monsieur, no; I will not allow you to call on me; indeed, why should you do so?"

"Why, to have the pleasure of being with you, madame; and because I desire to make myself better known to you; and——"

"No; it's unnecessary, I tell you. I am entirely convinced, monsieur, of your good faith in all that you have told me; what more can you desire?"

"Nothing in that direction. But when one has once had the pleasure of being your escort, it is painful, madame, to think of the possibility of never seeing you again."

"Never! That is a word that ought to be stricken from the dictionary, monsieur, don't you think?"

"I agree with you, madame, for it is a very sad word."

"And false three-quarters of the time. However, if you really wish to see me again, don't be disturbed; you will have an opportunity."

"Where, madame?"

"At Armantine's."

"Madame Sordeville's? But I know her no better than I do you."

"True; but her husband knows you. Talk a little more with him, and I will undertake to say that he'll invite you to his house."

"Do you think so, madame?"

"Try it, and you will see. Ah! here's the terrible Archibald coming toward us. Beware, or you will make an enemy of him!"

"How so?"

"Because I am sure that he thinks you are making love to me. He is capable of believing even more than that; and you must know that he has made me a declaration of love."

"I presume that that must be a common experience with you."

"That is quite true."

"And Monsieur Archibald has simply followed a road which many men are tempted to take."

"Look you, monsieur, I agree that a man may make a declaration of love to a woman, without meaning anything in particular; that is the commonest thing in the world; and if a woman is ever so little coquettish and attractive, she can safely bet that she will extort a declaration from every man she knows. So there's no great merit in that. But because a woman is less coy than another, because she says frankly what she thinks, because she doesn't play the prude and isn't afraid to laugh at a joke, because, in a word, she has in her manners more or less unconstraint, originality, character, boldness if you will—to imagine, therefore, that that woman is likely to be an easy conquest, that a man has only to—you can divine what I do not say—— Well! monsieur, that is a very grave mistake, born either of stupidity or monumental conceit."

Did she say that for my benefit? I could not tell. Still, I had made no declaration; and although I had expressed a wish to see her again, to thank her again, it seemed to me that that was perfectly natural after the service she had rendered me. No; she simply meant to give me a warning. But in that case she must be convinced that I proposed to make love to her? She was mistaken, for I thought only of my charming partner, Madame Sordeville.

The quadrille came to an end, and I left my place, thinking that I would return for a moment to the other ball, to make sure that Balloquet would not come in search of me, and to see what he was doing as Monsieur Bocal's guest. From the glimpse I had caught of that other function, I fancied that there were likely to be some amusing sights there, and that love was probably treated there in another fashion than in the salons at the front of the house.