oo
soon and the thistle-down sylph of a woman became my plain homely
Blanquette, uninspiring of romance save in the hardware bosom of the
_quincaillier_ at the corner of the Rue des Saladiers.

The _bal_ was crowded. Gaunt ill-shaven men, each a parody of one of the
Seven Deadly Sins, capered grotesquely with daughters of Rahab in cheap
hats and feathers. Shop assistants and neat, bare-headed work-girls,
students picturesquely long-haired and floppily trousered and cravated,
and poorly clad models, a whole army of nondescripts, heaven knows with
what means of livelihood, all dancing, drinking, eating, laughing,
jesting, smoking, primitively love-making, moving, shouting, a
phantasmagoria of souls making merry beyond the pale of reputable life;
such were the frequenters of the Bal Jasmin. Gas flared in two
concentric circles of flame around the hall and around the central
bandstand. There was no ventilation. The _bal_ sweltered in
perspiration. Hollow-voiced abjects hawked penny paper fans between the
dances, and the whole room was a-flutter.

Blanquette, who had forgotten tragedy for the time, sat with me at a
table by the balustrade and alternately sipped her syrup and water and
looked, full of interest, at the scene below, now and then clutching my
arm to direct my attention to startling personalities. The light in her
eyes and the colour in her coarse cheeks made her almost pretty. You
have never seen ugliness in a happy face. And Blanquette was happy.

"Don't you want to go and dance with any other _petite femme_?" she
asked generously. "I will wait for you here."

I declined with equal magnanimity to leave her alone.

"Suppose some rapscallion came up and asked you to dance?"

"I can take care of myself, _mon petit_ Asticot," she laughed, bracing
her strong arms. "And suppose I wanted to go off with him? They are
amusing sometimes, people like that. There is one. _Regarde-moi ce
type-la._"

The "_type_" in question was a fox-faced young man, unwashed and
collarless, wearing the peaked cap of Paris villainy. He crossed the
hall accompanied by two of the brazenest hussies that ever emerged from
the shadow of the fortifications. As they passed the sergent de ville
they all cocked themselves up with an air of braggadocio.

"He makes me shiver," said I. Blanquette shrugged her shoulders.

"One must have all sorts of people in the world, as there are so many
things to make people different. It is only a chance