“Oh, yes, she has a very merry expression! How Bélan must enjoy himself with those two women! It hasn’t brought him good luck, not inviting us to his wedding. By the way, the marquis is not with them. How does that happen?”
“What marquis?”
“Ha! ha! you pretend not to know, do you? It is everybody’s secret.—But I believe that my daughter wants something to eat.”
Marguerite was right: the world is very unkind!—The quadrille came to an end. I was standing near my wife, although I was not speaking to her. Bélan stopped beside us, and, while passing the guests in review, pointed to Marguerite, saying:
“There’s one of the prettiest women in the room!”
“You have wretched taste, monsieur,” cried Eugénie. “How can anyone call that woman pretty? And what a style too! anyone can see what she is.”
“What? What is she, pray? Do you know her?” Bélan instantly made haste to ask.
“No, I don’t know her; but I know what she is, and——”
“Madame,” I interposed, “why do you feel called upon to speak ill of a person who has never injured you?”
“Never injured me? oh! you are pleased to say that, monsieur; but I may at least feel offended that Monsieur Leberger invites his friends’ mistresses to a ball that he gives for us.”