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 passionately fond of the waltz _à 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 passed 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-class! I keep goal; you should just see what jolly kicks--"
He broke off as Jeanne did not speak. She was looking uneasily at her _fiancé_ as he passed and re-passed, 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 finishing now!"
She glanced at the four wretched musicians, who were in a deplorable state, with their shiny-looking coats, their limp shirt-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!"