The hilarity was at its height. The "black specks" went to and fro on their skinny legs with the undulatory motion of headless ravens. One gentleman's shirt was seen with a bit of braces. Then the ladies begged for mercy, they were stifling, and Monsieur de Saffré was pleased to order them to go and fetch the "black specks." They went off like a covey of young partridges amid a loud rustle of skirts. Then, each of them, at the end of her trip, seized hold of the gentleman who came within her grasp. It was an undescribable medley. And the improvised couples disengaged themselves in a file, and made the round of the drawing-room, waltzing, amid the louder strains of the orchestra.
Renée had leant against the wall. Pale, and with compressed lips, she looked on. An old gentleman came and asked her gallantly why she was not dancing. She had to smile and give some kind of answer. Escaping at last, she entered the dining-room. It looked empty, but amid the pillaged sideboards and the trailing bottles and plates, Maxime and Louise, seated side by side, were quietly supping at one end of the table, on a napkin which they had spread out. They seemed to be at their ease, they laughed amid the disorder, the dirty glasses, the dishes soiled with grease, the remnants, which testified to the gluttony of the supper-eaters with white gloves. They had contented themselves with brushing off the crumbs around them. Baptiste gravely walked round the table without a glance for the room, through which a band of wolves seemed to have passed; he was waiting for the other servants to come and set the sideboards in a little order.
Maxime had still been able to gather a very fair supper together. Louise adored hardbake with pistachio nuts, a plateful of which had remained on the top of a sideboard. They had three partially emptied bottles of champagne before them.
"Papa has perhaps gone off," said the young girl.
"So much the better," replied Maxime, "I will see you home."
And as she laughed:
"You know that they really want me to marry you," he added. "It's no longer a joke, it's serious. But what shall we do with ourselves when we are married?"
"Why, we'll do what others do, of course."
This repartee escaped her rather quickly, and as if to withdraw it, she hastily added:
"We will go to Italy. It will do my chest good. I am very ill. Ah! my poor Maxime, what a sorry wife you will have! I am not bigger than two sous of butter."