The studio, transformed into a ballroom, presented a striking appearance. It was spacious, but well-lighted. Finished pictures, sketches and studies adorned the walls. Busts, statues, and torsos served as candelabra; the musicians were perched upon a broad flight of steps, above which ancient Roman costumes were draped. The orchestra was made up of amateurs; but those amateurs had the self-assurance and almost the talent of Tolbecque. Behind them stood a manikin, which held a serpent to its mouth, as if it were playing on it; and a small flute was placed in the mouth of an Ajax, and a trombone in the hand of Belisarius. There was a great crowd; Leberger had invited a great many of his fellow-painters, and poets, musicians, and sculptors. The ball was already well in train. I saw Giraud dancing with his daughter, while his wife had accepted the invitation of her oldest son, who was beginning to administer some very graceful kicks to his neighbors. I saw Madame Bélan, who had deigned to accept the hand of a poet, while her husband remained with his mother-in-law, Madame de Beausire, who was seated in a corner of the studio, where she seemed to be posing as the _Mother of the Maccabees_. My wife joined some ladies of her acquaintance, and I went to watch a quadrille. My eyes fell upon a young lady who was dancing very timidly but who was by no means without grace. I knew that face, yes, I certainly knew it; but where had I seen it? Was it possible? Yes, it was Marguerite, it was Madame Ernest. That dress, so different from the simple one in which I had always seen her, had prevented me from recognizing her. I was far from expecting to see her at that ball. By what chance had she come? Probably her husband had insisted. But then he must be there--yes, there he was, watching his wife dance and gazing at her with evident pleasure. He was right; she was one of the loveliest women in the room. I could see nothing surprising in the fact that Ernest had brought his wife there; I could see no harm in his taking her everywhere with him; but there were, in that assemblage, absurd people who did not agree with me. Luckily a person’s station is not written on his forehead. But my wife! Since that evening when she had followed me, she was convinced that I either was or had been on intimate terms with Madame Firmin. I certainly should not tell her that my former neighbor was there, but if she should see Ernest, she would undoubtedly find it out. I was as disturbed as if I were guilty; if I had been, perhaps I should not have been so embarrassed. However, I could not avoid saying good-evening to Madame Firmin; I certainly would not be impolite because my wife was unjust; but I would try to do it without letting her see me. I walked toward Ernest, who had seen me and was coming toward me. “So you are here, my dear Blémont? I am delighted that you are; I didn’t expect the pleasure of meeting you. So you know Leberger, do you?”