My wife joined some ladies of her acquaintance, and I went to watch a quadrille. My eyes fell upon a young lady who was dancing very timidly but who was by no means without grace. I knew that face, yes, I certainly knew it; but where had I seen it? Was it possible? Yes, it was Marguerite, it was Madame Ernest. That dress, so different from the simple one in which I had always seen her, had prevented me from recognizing her. I was far from expecting to see her at that ball. By what chance had she come? Probably her husband had insisted. But then he must be there—yes, there he was, watching his wife dance and gazing at her with evident pleasure. He was right; she was one of the loveliest women in the room.
I could see nothing surprising in the fact that Ernest had brought his wife there; I could see no harm in his taking her everywhere with him; but there were, in that assemblage, absurd people who did not agree with me. Luckily a person’s station is not written on his forehead.
But my wife! Since that evening when she had followed me, she was convinced that I either was or had been on intimate terms with Madame Firmin. I certainly should not tell her that my former neighbor was there, but if she should see Ernest, she would undoubtedly find it out.
I was as disturbed as if I were guilty; if I had been, perhaps I should not have been so embarrassed. However, I could not avoid saying good-evening to Madame Firmin; I certainly would not be impolite because my wife was unjust; but I would try to do it without letting her see me.
I walked toward Ernest, who had seen me and was coming toward me.
“So you are here, my dear Blémont? I am delighted that you are; I didn’t expect the pleasure of meeting you. So you know Leberger, do you?”
“Yes, he comes to my house sometimes.”
“His ball is very fine. I brought my wife; look, she is over there dancing.”
“I have seen her.”
“Marguerite did not want to come; but I lost my temper, and at last she consented. In the first place, Leberger told me: ‘It is just a small affair, without any formality.’ Anyone would expect that, at a bachelor’s quarters; and after all, my wife is quite as good as other women here. The instant that I call her my wife, no one should presume to call her anything else; and if we could know what all the people in this room have done, I fancy that we should learn some fine things.”