Sophie ate but little, in spite of my remonstrances. Now and then, her father broke out into violent abuse against the young nobles, and I saw the tears trembling on her eyelashes every time that he did so.
We crossed the bridge thrown over the River Aire. Two streams of promenaders were continually passing—the one set mounting up, the other coming down. The Place du Grand Monarque was splendidly illuminated. The tables were not in any one’s way, being, for the most part, piled in front of the door of the church.
The Place du Grand Monarque being smoother and better paved than the Place Latry and, besides, not having the dispiriting influence of a cemetery, was chosen for the ball room.
The signal for the dance was given by a joyous peal from the church bells, to which violins and clarionets replied, and a quadrille was speedily formed.
My partner took my arm for the second dance, but suddenly complaining of illness, she implored me to take her home.
I was not an experienced dancer, but under Sophie’s tuition I got on so well, that I tried all I could to dissuade her from retiring; but she said, with a sad smile, “Do not ask me to remain, Réné,” and so I was obliged to comply with her request.
I gave her my arm, and we retraced our steps to the house.
M. Gerbaut had heard all about the fracas in the Rue des Réligieuses, and was very well pleased that we had given the young gentlemen a lesson.
Sophie, who had her arm in mine, heard all that he said to me, with downcast eyes, and gave no sign of approbation or otherwise, but I felt her shudder under her father’s words.