Bélan, who was dancing opposite the stout party, paid little heed to the noise and thought only of performing his figures; but the semi-darkness which reigned in the salon prevented him from seeing a slice of orange which Monsieur Théodore had dropped from his pocket; as he tried to execute a slide, Bélan slid in good earnest, and fell between the legs of his vis-à-vis.
The ladies shrieked with terror. Bélan rose, holding his side and swearing that he would not have fallen if he had not trodden upon something. The little Giraud girl picked up the crushed slice of orange and cried:
“It was my brother who threw that on the floor.”
And the father left the salon, giving Bélan his word that his son should be punished when everybody had gone.
That contradance was the last; the candles threatened to follow the example of the lamps, and the dancers were afraid of falling in with slices of orange when they balanced their partners.
Everybody departed. I went downstairs at the same time as Mademoiselle Dumeillan and her mother. I offered the latter my hand, while looking at the daughter only; I assisted them into a cab and bowed. That was as far as I could go at a first meeting.
I heard someone laughing and humming behind me. It was Bélan, following the lady in black and her husband; as he passed he whispered in my ear:
“I am following her, it’s all right. As for La Montdidier, that is all over, it’s broken off, we are sworn enemies. Adieu, I must pursue my conquest.”
A moment later Montdidier and his wife passed, accompanied by a tall, fair-haired youth who had stood behind madame’s chair all the evening.
I smiled as I remembered Bélan’s purpose to be virtuous, and I could not forbear exclaiming: