Abbe Ledoux, by the way, had taught his protege an almost infallible means of blushing: this was to hang one's head for several seconds, holding one's breath all the while. This skilfully counterfeited emotion occupied the first few minutes of the quadrille, M. de Macreuse having addressed scarcely a word to Mlle. de Beaumesnil. Moreover, by a marvel of tact and cunning, the originator of the St. Polycarpe mission not only managed to escape the ridicule to which a profoundly melancholy man exposes himself when he undertakes to dance, but also to preserve an interesting appearance in Mlle. de Beaumesnil's eyes in spite of the terpsichorean evolutions he was obliged to perform. He was aided not a little by his personal appearance, we must admit. Dressed entirely in black, booted and gloved in the most irreproachable manner, the cut of his coat was perfection, and his black satin cravat extremely becoming to one with his fair complexion and regular features. His figure, though a little too stout, was replete with an easy grace, and as he walked through the different figures of the quadrille, keeping perfect time to the music, he now and then cast a resigned but pathetic look at Mlle. de Beaumesnil, a look that seemed to say: "I am a stranger to worldly pleasures--entirely out of place at fetes, from which my sorrow impels me to hold myself aloof, but I submit to this painful contrast between my grief and the gaiety around me, because I have no other means of seeing you." This beloved disciple of Abbe Ledoux, in short, belonged to that school of actors that seems to make a specialty of meaning but constrained glances, expressive but discreet sighs, all fittingly accompanied with rollings of the eyes, and a contrite, radiant, or ingenuous expression of countenance, as best suits the occasion. In fact, M. de Macreuse's rendition of his role was so admirable that Mlle. de Beaumesnil, in spite of her suspicions, could not help saying to herself: "Poor M. de Macreuse! it must be very painful for him to find himself at a gay entertainment in which he can take so little pleasure, overwhelmed as he is by the despair his mother's death has caused him." But her suspicions reasserting themselves, "Then why did he come?" she asked herself. "Very possibly he was impelled to do so solely by avaricious motives. Is it a shameful hope of securing my wealth that makes him forget his grief and his regret?" M. de Macreuse having at last found a favourable opportunity for beginning a conversation with Ernestine, summoned up another blush, then said, in his most timid, unctuous, and ingratiating tones: "Really, I must appear very awkward and ridiculous to you, mademoiselle." "And why, monsieur?" "I have not dared to address so much as a word to you since the beginning of the dance, mademoiselle, but--embarrassment--fear--" "What! I frighten you, monsieur?" "Alas! yes, mademoiselle." "That is not a very gallant remark, monsieur."