The ladies afterwards went to their rooms to prepare for the ball.

Emma made her toilet with the fastidious care of an actress on her

debut. She did her hair according to the directions of the hairdresser,

and put on the barege dress spread out upon the bed.

Charles's trousers were tight across the belly.

"My trouser-straps will be rather awkward for dancing," he said.

"Dancing?" repeated Emma.

"Yes!"

"Why, you must be mad! They would make fun of you; keep your place.

Besides, it is more becoming for a doctor," she added.

Charles was silent. He walked up and down waiting for Emma to finish

dressing.

He saw her from behind in the glass between two lights. Her black eyes

seemed blacker than ever. Her hair, undulating towards the ears, shone

with a blue lustre; a rose in her chignon trembled on its mobile stalk,

with artificial dewdrops on the tip of the leaves. She wore a gown of

pale saffron trimmed with three bouquets of pompon roses mixed with

green.

Charles came and kissed her on her shoulder.

"Let me alone!" she said; "you are tumbling me."

One could hear the flourish of the violin and the notes of a horn. She

went downstairs restraining herself from running.

Dancing had begun. Guests were arriving. There was some crushing.

She sat down on a form near the door.

The quadrille over, the floor was occupied by groups of men standing up

and talking and servants in livery bearing large trays. Along the line

of seated women painted fans were fluttering, bouquets half hid smiling

faces, and gold stoppered scent-bottles were turned in partly-closed

hands, whose white gloves outlined the nails and tightened on the flesh

at the wrists. Lace trimmings, diamond brooches, medallion bracelets

trembled on bodices, gleamed on breasts, clinked on bare arms.

The hair, well-smoothed over the temples and knotted at the nape,

bore crowns, or bunches, or sprays of mytosotis, jasmine, pomegranate

blossoms, ears of corn, and corn-flowers. Calmly seated in their places,

mothers with forbidding countenances were wearing red turbans.

Emma's heart beat rather faster when, her partner holding her by the

tips of the fingers, she took her place in a line with the dancers, and

waited for the first note to start. But her emotion soon vanished, and,

swaying to the rhythm of the orchestra, she glided forward with slight

movements of the neck. A smile rose to her lips at certain delicate

phrases of the violin, that sometimes played alone while the other

instruments were silent; one could hear the clear clink of the louis

d'or that were being thrown down upon the card tables in the next room;

then all struck again, the cornet-a-piston uttered its sonorous note,

feet marked time, skirts swelled and rustled, hands touched and parted;

the same eyes falling before you met yours again.




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