d they escaped the jar such scenes must cause to pure and
tender hearts by giving the ball on the evening of the day appointed for
signing the marriage-contract.

Constance found in her room the gown of cherry velvet in which she had
shone for a single night with fleeting splendor. Cesarine cherished
a dream of appearing before Popinot in the identical ball-dress about
which, time and time again, he had talked to her. The appartement was
made ready to present to Cesar's eyes the same enchanting scene he had
once enjoyed for a single evening. Neither Constance, nor Cesarine, nor
Popinot perceived the danger to Cesar in this sudden and overwhelming
surprise, and they awaited his arrival at four o'clock with a delight
that was almost childish.

Following close upon the unspeakable emotion his re-entrance at the
Bourse had caused him, the hero of commercial honor was now to meet the
sudden shock of felicity that awaited him in his old home. He entered
the house, and saw at the foot of the staircase (still new as he had
left it) his wife in her velvet robe, Cesarine, the Comte de Fontaine,
the Vicomte de Vandenesse, the Baron de la Billardiere, the illustrious
Vauquelin. A light film dimmed his eyes, and his uncle Pillerault, who
held his arm, felt him shudder inwardly.

"It is too much," said the philosopher to the happy lover; "he can never
carry all the wine you are pouring out to him."

Joy was so vivid in their hearts that each attributed Cesar's
emotion and his stumbling step to the natural intoxication of his
feelings,--natural, but sometimes mortal. When he found himself once
more in his own home, when he saw his salon, his guests, the women in
their ball-dresses, suddenly the heroic measure in the finale of the
great symphony rang forth in his head and heart. Beethoven's ideal
music echoed, vibrated, in many tones, sounding its clarions through the
membranes of the weary brain, of which it was indeed the grand finale.

Oppressed with this inward harmony, Cesar took the arm of his wife
and whispered, in a voice suffocated by a rush of blood that was still
repressed: "I am not well."

Constance, alarmed, led him to her bedroom; he reached it with
difficulty, and fell into a chair, saying: "Monsieur Haudry, Monsieur
Loraux."

The Abbe Loraux came, followed by the guests and the women in their
ball-dresses, who stopped short, a frightened group. In presence of that
shining company Cesar pressed the hand of his c