source of
embarrassment to them. But Pauline interposed: "I must see to them!
Oh, you little stupids!"

She threw herself into the midst of the quadrille, caught hold of two
of them, one grasping her right hand the other her left, and managed
to infuse such life into the dance that the wooden flooring creaked
beneath them. The only sounds now audible rose from the hurrying
hither and thither of tiny feet beating wholly out of time, the piano
alone keeping to the dance measure. Some more of the older people
joined in the fun. Helene and Madame Deberle, noticing some little
maids who were too bashful to venture forth, dragged them into the
thickest of the throng. It was they who led the figures, pushed the
lads forward, and arranged the dancing in rings; and the mothers
passed them the youngest of the babies, so that they might make them
skip about for a moment, holding them the while by both hands. The
ball was now at its height. The dancers enjoyed themselves to their
hearts' content, laughing and pushing each other about like some
boarding school mad with glee over the absence of the teacher.
Nothing, truly, could surpass in unalloyed gaiety this carnival of
youngsters, this assemblage of miniature men and women--akin to a
veritable microcosm, wherein the fashions of every people mingled with
the fantastic creations of romance and drama. The ruddy lips and blue
eyes, the faces breathing love, invested the dresses with the fresh
purity of childhood. The scene realized to the mind the merrymaking of
a fairy-tale to which trooped Cupids in disguise to honor the
betrothal of some Prince Charming.

"I'm stifling!" exclaimed Malignon. "I'm off to inhale some fresh
air."

As he left the drawing-room he threw the door wide open. The daylight
from the street then entered in a lurid stream, bedimming the glare of
lamps and candles. In this fashion every quarter of an hour Malignon
opened the door to let in some fresh air.

Still there was no cessation of the piano-playing. Little Guiraud, in
her Alsatian costume, with a butterfly of black ribbon in her golden
hair, swung round in the dance with a harlequin twice her height. A
Highlander whirled Marguerite Tissot round so madly that she lost her
milk-pail. The two Berthier girls, Blanche and Sophie, who were
inseparables, were dancing together; the soubrette in the arms of
Folly, whose bells were jingling merrily. A glance could not be thrown
over the assemblage without one