“Why did you come in with the Colonel?” asked the Baron.
“I met him in the hall,” she replied. “But leave me now; everybody is looking at us.”
Martial returned to the Colonel of Cuirassiers. Then it was that the little blue lady had become the object of the curiosity which agitated in such various ways the Colonel, Soulanges, Martial, and Madame de Vaudremont.
When the friends parted, after the challenge which closed their conversation, the Baron flew to Madame de Vaudremont, and led her to a place in the most brilliant quadrille. Favored by the sort of intoxication which dancing always produces in a woman, and by the turmoil of a ball, where men appear in all the trickery of dress, which adds no less to their attractions than it does to those of women, Martial thought he might yield with impunity to the charm that attracted his gaze to the fair stranger. Though he succeeded in hiding his first glances towards the lady in blue from the anxious activity of the Countess’ eyes, he was ere long caught in the fact; and though he managed to excuse himself once for his absence of mind, he could not justify the unseemly silence with which he presently heard the most insinuating question which a woman can put to a man:
“Do you like me very much this evening?”
And the more dreamy he became, the more the Countess pressed and teased him.
While Martial was dancing, the Colonel moved from group to group, seeking information about the unknown lady. After exhausting the good-humor even of the most indifferent, he had resolved to take advantage of a moment when the Comtesse de Gondreville seemed to be at liberty, to ask her the name of the mysterious lady, when he perceived a little space left clear between the pedestal of the candelabrum and the two sofas, which ended in that corner. The dance had left several of the chairs vacant, which formed rows of fortifications held by mothers or women of middle age; and the Colonel seized the opportunity to make his way through this palisade hung with shawls and wraps. He began by making himself agreeable to the dowagers, and so from one to another, and from compliment to compliment, he at last reached the empty space next the stranger. At the risk of catching on to the gryphons and chimaeras of the huge candelabrum, he stood there, braving the glare and dropping of the wax candles, to Martial’s extreme annoyance.
The Colonel, far too tactful to speak suddenly to the little blue lady on his right, began by saying to a plain woman who was seated on the left:
“This is a splendid ball, madame! What luxury! What life! On my word, every woman here is pretty! You are not dancing—because you do not care for it, no doubt.”
This vapid conversation was solely intended to induce his right-hand neighbor to speak; but she, silent and absentminded, paid not the least attention. The officer had in store a number of phrases which he intended should lead up to: “And you, madame?”—a question from which he hoped great things. But he was strangely surprised to see tears in the strange lady’s eyes, which seemed wholly absorbed in gazing on Madame de Vaudremont.
“You are married, no doubt, madame?” he asked her at length, in hesitating tones.
“Yes, monsieur,” replied the lady.
“And your husband is here, of course?”
“Yes, monsieur.”
“And why, madame, do you remain in this spot? Is it to attract attention?”
The mournful lady smiled sadly.
“Allow me the honor, madame, of being your partner in the next quadrille, and I will take care not to bring you back here. I see a vacant settee near the fire; come and take it. When so many people are ready to ascend the throne, and Royalty is the mania of the day, I cannot imagine that you will refuse the title of Queen of the Ball which your beauty may claim.”
“I do not intend to dance, monsieur.”
The curt tone of the lady’s replies was so discouraging that the Colonel found himself compelled to raise the siege. Martial, who guessed what the officer’s last request had been, and the refusal he had met with, began to smile, and stroked his chin, making the diamond sparkle which he wore on his finger.
“What are you laughing at?” said the Comtesse de Vaudremont.
“At the failure of the poor Colonel, who has just put his foot in it—”
“I begged you to take your ring off,” said the Countess, interrupting him.
“I did not hear you.”
“If you can hear nothing this evening, at any rate you see everything, Monsieur le Baron,” said Madame de Vaudremont, with an air of vexation.
“That young man is displaying a very fine diamond,” the stranger remarked to the Colonel.
“Splendid,” he replied. “The man is the Baron Martial de la Roche-Hugon, one of my most intimate friends.”
“I have to thank you for telling me his name,” she went on; “he seems an agreeable man.”
“Yes, but he is rather fickle.”
“He seems to be on the best terms with the Comtesse de Vaudremont?” said the lady, with an inquiring look at the Colonel.
“On the very best.”
The unknown turned pale.
“Hallo!” thought the soldier, “she is in love with that lucky devil Martial.”
“I fancied that Madame de Vaudremont had long been devoted to M. de Soulanges,” said the lady, recovering a little from the suppressed grief which had clouded the fairness of her face.
“For a week past the Countess has been faithless,” replied the Colonel. “But you must have seen poor Soulanges when he came in; he is till trying to disbelieve in his disaster.”
“Yes, I saw him,” said the lady. Then she added, “Thank you very much, monsieur,” in a tone which signified a dismissal.
At this moment the quadrille was coming to an end. Montcornet had only time to withdraw, saying to himself by way of consolation, “She is married.”
“Well, valiant Cuirassier,” exclaimed the Baron, drawing the Colonel aside into a window-bay to breathe the fresh air from the garden, “how are
