Part 55 (1/2)
”Oh, no--no, I have just imagined it myself; you know I am so fond of Jeanne! I know all that pa.s.ses in her mind, and I should be so wretched if I caused her any unhappiness--or even the slightest anxiety; do you understand what I mean?”
”I understand that you are just an angel of goodness, mademoiselle, and that it is no wonder they are all so fond of you!”
Bijou was looking down on the floor, her breath coming and going quickly, a faint flush had come into her cheeks, and her nostrils were quivering, as she listened silently to the young professor's words.
He put his arm round her waist, took her little hand in his, as she offered no resistance, and whirled her off into the midst of the dance. M. Spiegel waltzed divinely, and Bijou was pa.s.sionately fond of the waltz _a trois temps_. With a flush on her cheeks, her eyes half-closed, and her lips parted, showing her dazzling white teeth, she went on whirling round as long as the orchestra played. Several times she pa.s.sed quite close to Jeanne, without even seeing her poor friend, who was being jerked about by Pierrot. The youth kept treading on his partner's toes, or knocking her against the furniture; and when, now and again, Jeanne would stop to get breath, Pierrot would chatter away most eloquently about all kinds of sports, of which she was absolutely ignorant.
”You know,” he said, putting out his enormous foot and his formidable knee, ”I am a very second-rate dancer, but I'm very good at football.
Our team is going to play a match this winter against the Pont-sur-Loire team; you ought to see it; it will be first-cla.s.s! I keep goal; you should just see what jolly kicks--”
He broke off as Jeanne did not speak. She was looking uneasily at her _fiance_ as he pa.s.sed and re-pa.s.sed, apparently happy in guiding Bijou along through the rapid whirl of the dance.
”I am boring you,” said Pierrot; ”shall we go on now?”
”No,” she replied, in a changed voice; ”I do not feel quite myself, and it is so warm! Will you take me across to papa--he is playing cards over there. I should like to go home!”
Whilst they were on their way to M. Dubuisson, Bijou stopped M.
Spiegel just near the orchestra; and said, in a laughing voice:
”Why, you are indefatigable--one must get one's breath, though; besides, the waltz is just finis.h.i.+ng now!”
She glanced at the four wretched musicians, who were in a deplorable state, with their s.h.i.+ny-looking coats, their limp s.h.i.+rt-fronts, and their faces bathed in perspiration.
”Why, Monsieur Sylvestre!” she suddenly exclaimed. ”Good evening, Monsieur Sylvestre! Well, I never! I didn't expect to see you!”
The poor fellow looked up eagerly, and, gazing at Bijou, with his soft, blue eyes full of deep distress, he stammered out:
”I did not expect to be seen either, mademoiselle!”
XVI.
ON going to bed at five in the morning, Bijou slept for two hours, and when, later on, she went to the marchioness's room, she looked as fresh and as thoroughly rested as after a long night's sleep.
”Grandmamma,” she said, ”I have been thinking a great deal ever since yesterday.”
”About what?”
”Why, about what you told me as regards M. de Clagny.”
”Ah!” said the marchioness, rather annoyed at a subject being brought up again, which she had thought over and done with.
Rather selfish, like nearly all elderly people, it seemed to her utterly useless to trouble about matters which were painful or sad, except just to settle them off once for all.
”I have been thinking,” continued Bijou. ”And then, too, I saw M. de Clagny last night at the ball--”
”Well, and what is the result of all this thinking and of this interview?” asked the marchioness, rather anxiously.