Edmond instantly threw off the little blue domino's arm and hurried away with Freluchon.
Two women, each wearing a small mask of velvet, without a barb, and dressed, one as a sort of débardeur, that is to say, in a high shirt, velvet trousers with broad satin bands, a fringed sash and a round hat covered with flowers; the other as Folly, with a fool's bauble in her hand, bells on her arm and legs and cap, around her waist, everywhere, in short,—were dancing with two men whose costumes were eccentric to the last degree.
One, in a Greek tunic, with deerskin breeches and riding-boots, wore a Roman helmet. The other, dressed as a Cupid, with quiver and arrows, had on his head the sort of head-covering usually assigned to Don Quixote, that is to say, a dish turned upside down.
The dancing of these gentlemen was in keeping with their costumes; it was very daring. The man in the helmet whirled his arms about like the wings of a windmill, with terrifying rapidity. The Cupid kicked up his heels almost in the face of his vis-à-vis, and from time to time, when he was doing the cavalier seul, threw himself flat on his stomach and executed the evolution known as the spider. As yet, the two little women had ventured upon nothing more than permissible cancan steps.
"The devil!" said Freluchon, planting himself behind the Folly; "those bucks have a style of dancing that's rather risky for their partners. Look out, Henriette; that Cupid will land his foot in your eye, and that's more dangerous, I assure you, than a kick somewhere else!"
The Folly pretended not to hear and went on dancing.
Edmond meanwhile, standing behind the little débardeur, said to her:
"My dear Amélia, I am very much afraid that your Roman will carry away your nose while he imitates a windmill with his arms; that would be a pity!"
The débardeur, like the Folly, made no reply; but a slight movement of the shoulders betrayed her, and seemed to say:
"Oh! let me alone; you bore me!"