“Aren’t you going to dance with her?”
“She does not lack partners.”
“I don’t care if she doesn’t; I have been invited to dance a great deal; but I insisted on dancing with Ernest too. I haven’t missed a quadrille yet.”
“Are you enjoying yourself here?”
“Pretty well. But I prefer to be at home in our chimney corner.”
A partner came up and claimed Madame Ernest’s hand. I sauntered about the ballroom. My wife was dancing with a very good-looking little dandy. Bélan was standing opposite his wife, at whom he gazed with admiration, while tall Armide seemed vexed to have her husband for her vis-à-vis. Giraud joined me and said in a sly tone:
“It seems to me that Bélan has shrunk since he was married; his wife crushes him.”
“You are unkind, Giraud.”
“Just look at the mother-in-law yonder. Either she has been weeping, is weeping, or is about to weep.”
“Perhaps it is with pleasure.”