The violins struck up. I took my partner’s hand. There were only enough people left to form one set. All our acquaintances had gone.
I looked about for my wife. She was ghastly pale, and that made me wretched; I felt all my anger fade away. I was almost sorry that I was dancing; but she should not have driven me to the wall.
Suddenly Eugénie rose and came toward me. What was she going to do?
“Monsieur, I do not feel well, and I want to go.”
“We will go after the quadrille, madame.”
“No, monsieur, I want to go at once.”
Marguerite overheard my wife, and instantly said:
“Monsieur Blémont, if madame your wife is not well, go, I beg you; do not mind me.”
“No, madame; I shall have the pleasure of dancing with you; then we will go.”
“What, monsieur,” said Eugénie satirically; “you do not come when madame gives you leave?”