very gesture
of Mrs. Hilaire and her guests. And then she became quite sure of what
she had suspected from the beginning. She understood into what company
she had been inveigled by the concierge's wife. She had, however,
sufficient self-control to finish the quadrille. But, when the last
figure had been danced, she rose; and, walking up to the mistress of the
house, said, stammering painfully, and in extreme embarrassment,--

"Please excuse me, madam, I have to leave. I feel very unwell. I could
not play any more."

"How funny!" cried one of the gentlemen. "Here is our ball at an end!"

But the young woman said,--

"Hush, Julius! Don't you see how pale she is,--pale like death, the poor
child! What is the matter with you, darling? Is it the heat that makes
you feel badly? It is stifling hot here."

And, when Henrietta was at the door, she said,--

"Oh, wait! I do not trouble people for nothing. Come, Julius, turn your
pockets inside out, and give the little one a twenty-franc-piece."

The poor girl was almost outside, when she turned, and said,--

"Thank you, madam; but you owe me nothing."

It was high time for Henrietta to leave. Her first surprise had been
followed by mad anger, which drove the blood to her head, and made her
weep bitter tears. She knew now that Mrs. Chevassat had caught her in
this trap. What could the wretched woman have meant?

Carried away by an irresistible impulse, and no longer mistress of
herself, Henrietta rushed down stairs, and broke like a whirlwind into
the little box of the concierge, crying out,--

"How could you dare to send me to such people? You knew all about it.
You are a wretch!"

Master Chevassat was the first to rise, and said,--

"What is the matter? Do you know to whom you are talking?"

But his wife interrupted him with a gesture, and, turning to Henrietta,
said with cynic laughter,--

"Well, what next? Are these people not good enough for you; eh? In the
first place, I am tired of your ways, my 'pussy-cat.' When one is a
beggar, as you are, one stays at home like a good girl; and one does not
run away with a young man, and gad about the world with lovers."

Thereupon she took advantage of the fact that Henrietta had paused
upon the threshold, to push her brutally out of the room at the risk of
throwing her down, and fiercely banged the door. An hour afterwards the
poor girl vehemently reproached herself for her passion.

"Alas!" she said to herself, weep