Between the contradances I struggled through the crowd, to try to introduce to my wife a crowd of people whom I hardly knew, but who said to me:
“Won’t you present me to madame?”
At midnight the crowd had become so great that it was difficult to move. Did I know all those people? No; but I had told several of my acquaintances to bring their acquaintances, and that sort of thing extends very far sometimes. However, it was a brilliant affair. There were lovely dresses and very pretty women; the men were well-dressed, and I saw none of those expressionless, ignoble faces, none of those old creased caps which one is surprised sometimes to see at a fashionable party, where however they often have more right to be than most people; for those unattractive, common faces which we see in corners at a wedding party usually belong to some uncle or some cousin whom it was impossible not to invite.
Three times I found Giraud eating ices or carrying them to his wife. He had brought only two of his children; the two older ones; that was very considerate of him. I was so happy that I asked Madame Giraud to dance, and she seemed highly flattered by that courtesy. But what did it matter to me with whom I danced when it was not Eugénie? I no longer thought of paying court to ladies; other times, other ideas.
“Your ball is delightful,” said Bélan, leading me into a salon where card playing was in progress, but where it was possible to move about. “There are at least four hundred people here.”
“Faith! I should be hard put to it to say how many there are here. If they are enjoying themselves, that is all that is necessary.”
“It will be like this at my wedding. What do you think of Armide?”
“She is very attractive.”
“And her eyes?”
“They are superb.”