The dancing had become very spirited; the villagers abandoned themselves with zest to the pastime; joy and happiness were depicted on every face. The songs of the drinkers blended with the music of the bagpipe and tambourine. The young men squeezed their sweethearts' hands as they danced, the maidens smiled sweetly at their lovers, the mothers at their little ones, and the old men at their bottles. Each smiled at what he loved best, as if in gratitude for the pleasure it afforded him.
Ménard, who had seated himself between two sturdy drinkers, listened calmly to the gossip of the neighborhood, eating a salad the while, and clinking glasses with his neighbors; for pride is unknown in the village, and Ménard never exhibited that sentiment inopportunely—that is to say, he knew enough to make it subordinate to his appetite.
Dubourg, forgetting his titles of nobility, had joined in the dance. He was capering about with a pretty brunette, with bright eyes, a retroussé nose, and an exceedingly shapely leg. The peasant girl was not at all intimidated by her elegant partner; on the contrary, she kept saying to him:
"Come, why don't you dance? you don't move at all!"
Dubourg performed his dainty little Parisian steps, which are so highly esteemed in the salons of the capital; but to the villagers that was nothing more than walking, and the girl said again and again:
"Can't you dance better'n that? What kind of dancing do you call that? Come, you must kick up your heels, or I'll take another partner!"
Thereupon Dubourg, who did not want her to take another partner, made a telegraph of his arms and legs, and kept them in motion incessantly. Ménard, watching his performance from his table, said to his neighbors:
"There's monsieur le baron dancing a polonaise with your young women! Look, my boys, that's the way they dance at Cracow, and on the Krapach Mountains! How dignified it is! how graceful! What pretty steps he takes per fas et nefas!"
Ménard's neighbors opened their eyes to their fullest extent, understanding nothing of what he said. But Dubourg's partner was content, and he, seeing that she was inclined to look favorably on him, ventured to steal a kiss; but she instantly retorted by boxing his ears, for the village damsels of the suburbs of Grenoble do not resemble the Gotons of the suburbs of Paris.
Frédéric stood near the dancers, but paid no heed to the animated picture before his eyes. He fancied himself still in the lonely path, and saw, in his imagination, the girl sitting beside the stream.