At midnight, the number of guests was already so great that it was becoming very difficult to pass from one room into another. To do so required an amount of persevering effort which many of the ladies did not choose to put forth, and which, indeed, the enormous dimensions of their skirts made almost impossible. The ball was at its height. The queen of the fete did the honors with much grace, and everybody agreed in voting her charming. Fanny was, in very truth, most bewitchingly and becomingly dressed; her white moire gown, albeit not overladen with trimming, was studded with bunches of real flowers, and in her hair there were no jewels save a cluster of diamonds; but the satisfaction which her vanity experienced in the giving of such a fete imparted to her eyes an unusual brilliancy, to her smile more expression, to her voice more feeling. She was surrounded by men who contended for the honor of dancing a polka or a quadrille with her, and everyone envied the lucky mortal who was her partner for the time being, especially as she was a beautiful dancer; she was as light as a feather, and her feet seemed hardly to touch the floor. Auguste Monleard was very far from displaying the same glee and satisfaction which were so apparent on his wife's features; he did the honors of his salons with the exquisite courtesy and refinement of a man in the best society, who is accustomed to party-giving; but there was in his smile a something forced and constrained, which was better adapted to freeze than to provoke gayety; at times, too, a dark cloud passed over his forehead, his eyebrows contracted, his lips tightened, and he seemed utterly oblivious to what was being said to him. But these periods of distraction lasted but a moment. Auguste would suddenly come to himself and struggle to assume a cheerful aspect. Adolphine, who came early with her father, did not dazzle the beholder by the splendor of her costume; but she was charming by virtue of her natural grace of manner, her perfect figure, the sweet expression of her lovely eyes, and perhaps, too, by virtue of a touch of melancholy, which she strove to overcome, but which added to the charm of her face. Monsieur Batonnin did not fail to be on hand when the leader of the orchestra gave the signal for the dancing to begin, and the girl had no choice but to accept him for her partner; indeed, it mattered little to her with whom she danced; what she would have liked would have been not to dance at all; but, as she was the hostess's sister, that was impossible; too many people would have inquired the reason for her abstinence, and it would have worried her father and annoyed her sister. On the contrary, she felt that she must act as if she were enjoying herself hugely, and that was very difficult; we can do many things to oblige another, but the eyes never have complaisance enough to hide thoroughly our real feelings.