Madame Dauberny heard this last. She laughed heartily, but that did not interfere with her running comments on the wedding guests:
"Look at that couple yonder; for ten minutes they have been in the same spot; they are trying to polk, and can't go forward or back.—You will notice a tall woman in pink, in the corner at our left, with a garland of green leaves on her head; she has struck the attitude of a caryatid, and seems disposed to weep.—And see those two ladies, or demoiselles, polking together, and bumping into everybody.—And that little man hopping about with a tall partner."
"That's Cousin Ravinet."
"On my word, there are some sweet caricatures here! There are some very good-looking girls, but they look like grisettes; probably that's all they are. I am very curious to know what Monsieur Bocal's business is."
The music stopped. The heat was stifling in the ballroom.
"I have had enough of it," said Madame Dauberny; "besides, I believe that Monsieur Guillardin has returned to his daughter. Take me back to the other party; then you may return here, if you choose."
"I beg you to believe, madame, that I too prefer the company of which you are one."
"I believe you; I should be sorry for you if it were otherwise. But you must return and speak to your friend Balloquet. Balloquet! you must agree that that is a singular name for a physician. If I were ill, I would never put myself in the hands of a doctor named Balloquet!"
"So you think that the name is of some consequence, do you, madame?"
"Much, monsieur; if your name had been Balloquet, I could never have made up my mind to say that you were a friend of my girlhood."