The heroic and free-and-easy manner of Madame Volenville’s dancing created a sensation; a confused murmur ran through the salon and the young men left the card-table for the place where our auctioneeress was performing. She considered this eagerness to watch her very flattering, and was enchanted by it; she danced with redoubled fire and animation, and tried to electrify her partner, who did not seem to share her vivacity; flushing with rage when he saw the circle which had formed about him, and heard the sarcastic compliments which the young men addressed to him, and the spiteful remarks of the young women, he bit his lips, clenched his fists, and would have given all that he possessed to have the quadrille come to a close. But Madame Volenville left him but little time to himself; she was almost always in the air; she insisted upon balancing, or going forward and back, all the time, despite the remonstrances of her partner, who said to her until he was hoarse: “It isn’t our turn, madame; in a minute; that figure is finished; pray stop!” But Madame Volenville was started, and she was determined to make up to herself for five hours of waiting; and when by chance she did pause for a second, her glance rested complacently upon the large crowd which surrounded her; and as with her handkerchief she wiped away the drops of perspiration which stood on her brow, her eyes seemed to say to the throng: “You didn’t expect to see such dancing as this, eh? Another time, perhaps you will ask me!” Meanwhile the torture of Belcour--that was the name of Madame Volenville’s partner--was approaching its end; the quadrille was almost finished; already they had thrice performed the famous _chassez les huit_; once more, and all would have been over, when a young notary’s clerk, a mischievous joker, who loved a laugh, like most of his fellows, conceived the idea of running to the orchestra, and asking for a jig in the name of the whole company. The musicians at a wedding party never refuse any request, and they began to play a jig at the moment that Belcour bowed to Madame Volenville and attempted to slink away. The voice of Orpheus imploring the gods of the infernal regions did not produce so much effect upon Pluto as the strains of the violins and the air of the jig produced upon Madame Volenville. “Monsieur! monsieur! it isn’t over yet,” she cried to Belcour, who was walking away. He pretended not to hear, and was already near the door of the salon, when Madame Volenville ran after him, caught him and arrested his steps. “Monsieur, what are you doing? Don’t you hear the violins? Ah! what a pretty tune! it’s a jig; come quickly!” “A thousand pardons, madame, but I thought----” “It is a jig, monsieur, and I love that dance to madness!” “Madame, I do not feel very well, and----” “You shall see my English steps; it was while dancing the jig that I used to make so many conquests.” “Madame, I would like a breath of fresh air----”