The young fellow looked at her with a nervous air; but she continued smiling, strangely, like a schoolboy delighted with some bit of fun rather too strong.
The ball began. The platform of the tableaux vivants had been utilized to accommodate a little orchestra in which brass instruments predominated, and the bugles and the cornets-à-piston launched forth their clear notes, amid the ideal forest with blue trees. First came a quadrille, "Ah! he has boots, he has boots, Bastien!" which then constituted the delight of public balls. The ladies danced. Polkas, waltzes, mazurkas alternated with quadrilles. The swinging couples came and went, filled the long gallery, leaping under the lash of the brass instruments, swaying amid the lullaby of the violins. The costumes, this flood of women of all countries and all periods, displayed a swarming medley of bright stuffs. After mingling the colours and carrying them off in cadenced confusion, the rhythm at certain touches of the bows abruptly brought back the same tunic of pink satin, the same dress body of blue velvet beside the same black coat. Then another touch of the bows, a blast of the cornets, pushed the couples on, made them travel in files around the drawing-room, with the swinging motion of a bark floating away under a gust of wind which had severed the fast that moored it. And so on, always, endlessly, for hours together. At times, between two dances, a lady approached a window, stifling, inhaling a little icy air; a couple rested on a couch in the little buttercup drawing-room, or descended into the conservatory, going slowly round the paths. Skirts, only the edges of which could be seen, seemed to laugh languidly under the arbours of tropical creepers, in the depths of the tepid shade, where the loud notes of the cornets were wafted during the quadrilles of "Hallo! the little lambs," and "I've a foot on the move."
When the servants opened the door of the dining-room, transformed into a refectory with sideboards against the walls, and a long table laden with cold meats in the centre, there was a shove, a crush. A tall handsome man, who had timidly kept his hat in his hand, was so violently flattened against the wall that the unfortunate hat burst with a dull moan. This made people laugh. The guests rushed upon the pastry and the truffled poultry, brutally digging their elbows into one another's ribs. It was a pillage, hands met amid the viands, and the lackeys did not know whom to answer, in the midst of this band of well-bred men whose extended arms expressed the sole fear of arriving too late and finding the dishes empty. An old gentleman became angry because there was no Bordeaux wine, and champagne, so he affirmed, prevented him from sleeping.
"Softly, gentlemen," said Baptiste in his grave voice. "There will be enough for everyone."
But he was not listened to. The dining-room was already full, and yet more anxious dress-coats rose up at the door. In front of the sideboards, stood groups eating quickly and pressing closely together. A good many swallowed without drinking, not having been able to set their hands on a glass. Others, on the contrary, drank after fruitlessly running about for a morsel of bread.
"Listen," said Monsieur Hupel de la Noue, whom Mignon and Charrier, weary of mythology, had led to the buffet, "we sha'n't get anything if we don't help each other. It's much worse at the Tuileries, and I have acquired some experience there. You look after the wine, and I'll see to the meat."
The prefect was watching a leg of mutton. He stretched out his hand, at the right moment, through a break in the surrounding shoulders, and quietly carried it off, after filling his pockets with little rolls. The contractors returned from their side, Mignon with one bottle, and Charrier with two bottles of champagne; but they had only been able to secure two glasses; they said, however, that it did not matter, that they would drink out of the same. And the party supped on the corner of a flowerstand at the end of the room. They did not even take off their gloves, but put the slices of mutton already cut between their bread, and kept the bottles under their arms. And standing up, they talked with their mouths full, stretching out their chins in advance of their waistcoats so that the gravy might fall on to the carpet.
Charrier, having finished his wine before his bread, asked a servant if he could not have a glass of champagne.
"You must wait, sir," angrily replied the scared servant, losing his head and forgetting he was no longer in the kitchen. "Three hundred bottles have already been drunk."
However, one could hear the notes of the orchestra swelling with sudden gusts. Couples were footing the polka called "The Kisses," famous at public balls, and the rhythm of which each dancer had to mark by kissing his partner. Madame d'Espanet appeared at the door of the dining-room, flushed, her hair slightly disordered, and trailing her silver robe with charming lassitude. People barely drew aside, and she had to shove with her elbows to obtain a passage. She made the round of the table, hesitating, a pout on her lips. Then she went straight to Monsieur Hupel de la Noue who had finished, and, who was wiping his mouth with his pocket-handkerchief.