We had not walked ten steps when I heard my name called; I turned and saw Bélan, with his wife and his mother-in-law on his arm, apparently very proud to escort his superb Armide. He honored me with a gracious nod; then, after finding seats for the ladies, he came to me and led me away from the dancing. “Well, my dear Blémont, as you see, everything is arranged and I have returned to the fold. I was a lost lamb, as my mother-in-law says; but everything is forgotten and I have once more become reconciled with my wife.” “That is what I supposed when I saw you just now. But I confess that it rather surprised me. After taking your affairs into court, after having your name published in the newspapers----” “What difference does that make? What do the newspapers prove? Besides, as the court decided that I was mistaken, that I wasn’t a cuckold, I can’t claim to know more than the judges.” “If I remember aright, you talked in a very different tone at Mont-d’Or; you proposed to appeal from the judgment against you.” “Do you think that I said that? It’s possible. It is true that I was excited then--anger, you know, and jealousy--a man often says foolish things. I am more reasonable now. On my return from Mont-d’Or her relations came to me; they told me that Armide was inclined to forgive me. At that, I said: ‘Let us forget all our disagreements.’--All my friends tell me that I have done well to take back my wife.” “I am far from blaming you; but if I had been in your place, I would have made less noise about it.” “Oh! I like to make a noise--to make people talk about me. As soon as I go anywhere nowadays, I hear people whispering when they look at me. They say: ‘That’s Monsieur Ferdinand Bélan,’ as they might say: ‘That is Voltaire, or Frederick the Great.’ I confess it doesn’t displease me. But au revoir, my dear fellow; the ladies await me, and I like dancing with Armide.” I had no desire to detain Bélan. What a strange man! And yet not so strange after all; we meet with such characters not infrequently. But I did not enjoy his society at all.--He had caused me to lose sight of Ernest, and I set out to find him again. I returned to the place where they were dancing. Ernest was performing with a lady from Saint-Mandé. As I did not care to dance, I was looking about for a seat, when my eyes met those of a young woman who beckoned to me. It was Caroline, sitting with her uncle, and she offered me a chair beside her. I hesitated, for before long I must cease to enjoy her society; but that would be the last time before bidding her adieu forever. To refuse would have been discourteous. So I stepped forward and took the proffered seat by her side. “It took you a long while to decide,” she said with a smile, “although we are not alone here.” I made no reply; I dared not even look at her; for I found her eyes very dangerous since coquetry had ceased to shine in them. Luckily her uncle put an end to my embarrassment.