"... Mabel's dear papa is a faker of pig's flesh."
"... The mother is silly and vain. Poor Vittorio, what a father and mother-in-law!"
In a dance that became ever more lively, the first and second parts of that theatrical spectacle passed—the "Palace" cotillon. A more precipitous movement led the couples amidst gauze, tulle, ribbons, paper caps, streamers of fresh flowers, and Swiss bells of silver paper.
Now and then, during a moment's pause, a friend stopped beside Mabel and Vittorio, formulated a courteous inquiry, bowed at the reply, and offered his congratulations, seemingly complimentary and full of worldly good-nature. The orchestra gave forth its fervid recall; the couples danced anew in a hurried whirl. The friend would withdraw to form the centre of a group of men, old, middle-aged, and young, to whom he brought the news, and where the worldly, masculine choir, with disingenuous air, with an air as if it did not matter, occupied itself particularly with Vittorio Lante.
"... He hasn't a farthing."
"... Seven hundred thousand francs' worth of debts."
"... Refused five times by five girls."
"... His mother mends silk stockings to get a living."
"... He can't pay his hotel bill."
"... Oh, now his creditors will wait."