"Here is the verbena."
There was discreet applause. It was found very pretty. Monsieur de Saffré was a cotillon leader "who never remained embarrassed," such was the ladies' remark. In the meanwhile the orchestra had resumed the waltz air with all its instruments, and Monsieur Simpson, after making the round of the room, waltzing with Madame d'Espanet, reconducted her to her seat.
Renée was able to pass. She had bit her lips till they bled at sight of all this foolishness. She considered these women and men stupid to throw scarfs and take the names of flowers. Her ears rung, a furious impatience lent her a brusque desire to throw herself forward, head first, and open a passage. She crossed the drawing-room with a rapid step, jostling the belated couples who were regaining their seats. She went straight to the conservatory. She had not seen either Louise or Maxime among the dancers, and she said to herself that they must be there, in some nook formed by the foliage, united by that partiality for drollery and impropriety which made them seek out little corners as soon as they found themselves anywhere together. But she fruitlessly explored the dimness of the conservatory. She only perceived, in the depths of an arbour, a tall young fellow who was devoutly kissing the hands of little Madame Daste and murmuring:
"Madame de Lauwerens told me right: you are an angel."
This declaration in her house, in her conservatory, shocked Renée. Madame de Lauwerens ought really to have taken her traffic elsewhere! And Renée would have felt relieved could she have chased all these people who bawled so loud out of her apartments. Standing in front of the basin, she looked at the water and asked herself where Louise and Maxime could well have hidden themselves. The orchestra still played that waltz, the slow undulation of which made her feel sick. It was insupportable, one could no longer reflect in one's own abode. She became confused. She forgot that the young folks were not yet married, and she said to herself that it was simple enough, that they had gone to bed. Then she thought of the dining-room, and quickly reascended the conservatory staircase. But at the door of the drawing-room she was stopped for the second time by a figure of the cotillon.
"These are the 'black specks,' ladies," gallantly said Monsieur de Saffré. "This is an invention of mine, and I inaugurate it for you."
There was a great deal of laughter. The gentlemen explained the allusion to the young women. The Emperor had just delivered a speech, which recorded the presence of certain "black specks" on the political horizon. These black specks had met with great success, no one knew why. Parisian wits had appropriated the expression, and to such a point that for a week past the black specks had been introduced into everything. Monsieur de Saffré placed the masculine dancers at one end of the drawing-room, making them turn their backs to the ladies who were left at the other end. Then he ordered the men to turn up their coats in such a way as to hide the backs of their heads. This operation was accomplished amid tremendous merriment. Hump-backed, with their shoulders hidden by the tails of their coats which now only fell to their waists the gentlemen looked really frightful.
"Don't laugh, ladies," cried Monsieur de Saffré with most comical gravity, "or I shall make you put your lace flounces on your heads."
The merriment increased. And the leader energetically availed himself of his sovereignty over some of the gentlemen who would not hide the napes of their necks.
"You are the 'black specks,'" said he; "hide your heads, only show your backs, it is necessary that the ladies should only see so much black. Now, walk, mingle together, so that you may not be recognized."