vulgar attitudes, and amused themselves too heartily; their eyes
were full of inconsiderate curiosity; their voices ranged above the
low murmur which gives inimitable piquancy to the conversations of a
ball-room; above all, they had none of that composed impertinence
which contains the germs of epigram, nor the tranquil attitude
which characterizes those who are accustomed to maintain empire over
themselves. Thus Madame Rabourdin, Madame Jules, and Mademoiselle
de Fontaine, who had expected much amusement from the ball of their
perfumer, were detached from the background of the bourgeoisie about
them by their soft and easy grace, by the exquisite taste of their dress
and bearing,--just as three leading singers at an opera stand out in
relief from the stolid array of their supernumeraries. They were watched
with jealous, wondering eyes. Madame Roguin, Constance, and Cesarine
formed, as it were, a link which united the three types of feminine
aristocracy to the commercial figures about them.

There came, as there does at all balls, a moment when the animation of
the scene, the torrents of light, the gaiety, the music, the excitement
of dancing brought on a species of intoxication which puts out of
sight these gradations in the _crescendo_ of the _tutti_. The ball was
beginning to be noisy, and Mademoiselle de Fontaine made a movement to
retire; but when she looked about for the arm of her venerable Vendeen,
Birotteau, his wife, and daughter made haste to prevent such a desertion
of the aristocracy.

"There is a perfume of good taste about this appartement which really
amazes me," remarked that impertinent young woman to the perfumer. "I
congratulate you."

Birotteau was so intoxicated by compliments that he did not comprehend
her meaning; but his wife colored, and was at a loss how to reply.

"This is a national fete which does you honor," said Camusot.

"I have seldom seen such a ball," said Monsieur de la Billardiere, to
whom an official falsehood was of no consequence.

Birotteau took all these compliments seriously.

"What an enchanting scene! What a fine orchestra! Will you often give us
a ball?" said Madame Lebas.

"What a charming appartement! Is this your own taste?" said Madame
Desmarets.

Birotteau ventured on a fib, and allowed her to suppose that he had
designed it.

Cesarine, who was asked, of course, for all the dances, understood very
well Anselme's delicacy in that matter.

"If I thought only