"Because you looked so comical, polking with that grisette just now. I had so little expectation of finding a ball in progress here!—Ha! ha! ha! I was speechless."
"By the way, how did you come in?"
"Through the door, naturally; I rang, and your servant admitted me. But you were so hard at work with your dancing that you didn't hear me—apparently.—Ha! ha! ha!"
"Oho! my servant admitted you, did he? I sent him on an errand and forbade him to return before two o'clock. The rascal! he couldn't restrain his curiosity, and he came back before the time."
"I disturbed you—I am very sorry. But it seemed to me that you had had enough; you were on your last legs. Fichtre! what a dancer that damsel is! You and I dance very well together—they took us for artists from the Opéra, you know; but if you had polked with your friend at Monsieur Bocal's ball, they would have carried you both in triumph, like Musard.—Ha! ha! ha!"
"You are in a satirical mood, Frédérique."
"Satirical with you? Bless my soul! it seems to me that that would be very unbecoming of me. You amuse yourself, you enjoy life, you know how to make the most of your best days—and you are quite right! I may envy your happiness, but certainly not laugh at it, I who can no longer do anything but bore myself and other people too."
She said these last words in a most melancholy tone, and her eyes were wet with tears.
"What's that you say about boring other people, Frédérique?" I said, taking her hand. "You didn't make that wicked remark for my benefit, I trust; if you did, it is absolutely false."