Auguste Monléard joined his male guests at supper, to do the honors of his table; he began by pouring down several glasses of champagne; then, like one who is determined to divert his thoughts at any cost, he drank glass after glass of different kinds of wine, in rapid succession. This manœuvre succeeded; in a quarter of an hour his brow had cleared, his eyes sparkled; he talked with all his guests, and challenged them to drink with him; in fact, he was almost gay, and he laughed—a laugh that was a little nervous, a little forced, perhaps, but which produced a most excellent effect toward the end of the supper. When the gentlemen finally left the table, at which they had made quite an extended sojourn, they did not fail to call for a cotillon, the dance which has become almost the obligatory conclusion of a ball; and Auguste Monléard proposed to lead it.
The suggestion was received with delight by the dancing contingent. Adolphine, greatly surprised by the animation now exhibited by her brother-in-law, mentioned it to her sister.
"Your husband seems to be in high spirits now," she said; "and I am very glad to see him so."
"Why! did you think that he wasn't in good spirits before?" rejoined Fanny. "You are wrong, my dear girl! Auguste always enjoys himself—only, he doesn't look as if he did; that's his way."
The cotillon came to an end, and the tired dancers began at last to think of retiring. Batonnin, having supped satisfactorily twice over, left the house with Anatole de Raincy, humming:
"'La belle nuit! la belle fête!'"
"I know that! it ith from a comic opera," said the tall young man.
"True; but you must agree that it's apropos: la belle fête!"
"Yeth, but I'm afraid—according to what Vauflers thaid——"