SEVENTH.
There was a grand ball yesterday. Paul presented there a young creole from Venezuela in America; the young man has as yet seen nothing; he has just left ship at Bordeaux, whence he comes here; a very fine fellow, however, of a fine, olive complexion; great hunter, and better fitted for frequenting mountains than drawing-rooms. He comes to France to form himself, as they say; Paul pretends that it is to be deformed.
We have taken our place in a corner; and the young man has asked Paul to define to him a ball.
“A great funereal and penitential ceremony.”
“Pshaw!”
“No doubt of it, and the custom goes back a long way.”
“Indeed?”
“Back to Henry III. who instituted assemblies of flagellants. The men of the court bared their backs, and met together to lash one another over the shoulders. Nowadays there is no longer any whipping, but the sadness is the same. All the men who are here come to expiate great sins or have just lost their relations.” "That is the reason why they are dressed in black.”
“Precisely.”
“But the ladies are in magnificent dresses.”