“Verses at a wedding! You should leave that to the Almanach des Muses,” said the tall cousin, who sat beside me, and who still bore the groom a grudge on account of his fall on the stairs. At the same instant Madame de Beausire shrieked aloud: “You are pale, Armide! Don’t you feel well, my child?” I had not noticed that the bride had changed color; but as her mother told her that she had, Armide probably thought it best not to feel well. She passed her hand over her eyes and said in a faltering tone: “No, I feel----” Her mother did not allow her to finish. She sprang to her feet, crying: “Mon Dieu! mon Dieu! Armide is dying! We must carry her to her bed.” Instantly there was a general uprising. The aunt who was at my side thrust her elbow in my face in her attempt to rise quickly in order to go to the assistance of her niece, who thereupon concluded that she had best be ill altogether. While they were taking Armide to her room, and Bélan was running hither and thither like a madman, I went to my wife, took her hand and led her to the door, saying: “This is quite enough for one morning.” Bélan overtook us on the stairs, and called out to us: “What! going already? Why, my wife will come to herself in a minute; I am not worried about her health; my mother-in-law is forever telling her that she is going to die, when she has no idea of doing anything of the kind.” “We have an engagement.” “Until this evening, then.” “The ball is not to be at your mother-in-law’s, is it?” “No, at Lointier’s. It will be magnificent.” “We will be there.” How glad we were to be alone again! We had plenty to laugh about, as we passed in review the original creatures whom we had met; and although my wife is not malicious, she was fully alive to the absurdities of the company. We had promised to attend the ball, so we had no choice but to go; moreover, it was impossible that it should be so dreary a function as the breakfast; and then it was to take place in the same salons in which we had given ours, and we were not sorry to see them once more. We went late, because we hoped to find the dancing well under way; but we were surprised to find the salons almost empty, and only two quadrilles in progress, so that everybody had plenty of room to dance. And yet it was after eleven o’clock. Bélan came to meet us. His face was a yard long, and he said to me: “It is most annoying: my mother-in-law would not allow me to invite more than thirty people; for she said that, with her family and acquaintances, that would be quite enough; and you see how much empty space there is. I am aware that the party is very select, but a few more people would do no harm.” “One result, my dear Bélan, is that it is much more comfortable to dance.” “Yes, that is so; the dancers will gain by it.” “And madame is no longer ill?”