Monsieur Sordeville raised his eyebrows slightly as he replied: "Hum! that word is a little strong!" "Why so? I mean by _gaillarde_ a decided character, which never bends, and does nothing except in accordance with its own desires; which takes its stand above a multitude of everyday prejudices, and snaps its fingers at what people will say. Indeed, Madame Frédérique--she prefers to be called that, you know, for she detests her husband's name--Madame Frédérique, I say, makes no bones of declaring that she does only what she pleases, and that she intends to do everything that she pleases. When a woman says that, I should say that one may well call her a _gaillarde_!" Monsieur Sordeville smiled, and said simply: "People say so many things that they don't do! Sometimes, it is to obtain a reputation for originality." "And you, monsieur," continued Archibald, turning to me, "you, who are one of Madame Frédérique's early friends, do not you share the opinion of her which I have just expressed?" I saw that Monsieur Sordeville was covertly watching me, and I replied, measuring my words: "Since I have had the honor of knowing Madame Dauberny, monsieur, I have always recognized in her the possessor of many invaluable qualities, and a keen wit, slightly satirical perhaps; as for her faults, I know of none; but clever people are becoming so scarce that they may well pass for originals." My interlocutors held their peace. Monsieur Sordeville shook his head, and Monsieur Archibald pursed his lips. The orchestra played the prelude to a quadrille. I determined to perform a noble deed, which would put me on good terms with the bride's family: I invited Mademoiselle Joliette to dance. The ugly child accepted with unbounded delight. While we were dancing, I saw Madame Dauberny looking at me with a smile that seemed to say: "That's a very clever thing you are doing." For my own part, I hoped to reward myself in the next quadrille by inviting the seductive Armantine. But while we were executing the final figure, a great uproar suddenly arose outside the door; people were shouting and quarrelling in the corridor, and I fancied that I recognized Balloquet's voice. Either he had not been so fortunate as I, or he had been guilty of some imprudence. I ran in the direction of the outcry. XII THE WEDDING PARTY IN THE REAR ROOM As I stepped out into the hall which separated the two ballrooms, the dispute seemed to be growing warmer. I could distinguish Balloquet's voice perfectly, shouting: "Once more, messieurs, I tell you it's a mistake, a simple mistake. What the devil! any man may be mistaken. I mistook one party for the other. Wedding parties are a good deal alike, as a rule, especially after the dancing begins. There's not enough harm done to whip a cat for." The waiters did their utmost to restore peace, testifying that Balloquet had dined upstairs with some most respectable gentlemen.