The ladies who were seated in front of the recess in which Chérubin stood had no suspicion that there was anybody behind them. The conversation continued in the salon; the guests walked hither and thither, laughing and chatting. Chérubin alone could not stir, and he was at a loss what to do in his little corner. Several times Madame Célival passed the people who were blockading him, but she did not see him. He congratulated himself that she did not, for he would not have known what reply to make, if she had asked him what he was doing there. Monfréville too had reappeared in the salon, but he did not see the suppliant glances which his young friend cast at him, and, instead of approaching him, he seemed to avoid that part of the room in which Madame de Noirmont had seated herself. Nearly an hour passed thus. Poor Chérubin was terribly fatigued by standing so long, and terribly bored in his little nook. He could hear what Madame de Noirmont said to her daughter; but that lady did not enter into any sustained conversation; she simply replied in few words to Ernestine’s questions. “Mamma,” said the latter, after a young lady had sung a ballad, “don’t you want me to sing?” “No, my child, you are too young to put yourself forward; besides, unless your father insists upon it, you will never sing in company.” “Why not, mamma?” “Because I prefer in a young lady the modesty which keeps itself concealed, to the vanity which makes itself conspicuous.” “But in that case, mamma, why did you give me a music teacher?” “Such accomplishments are more useful in solitude than in society.” “Oh!--But, mamma----” “That is enough, my child.” A glance from Madame de Noirmont imposed silence on the girl; but, after a few moments, she returned to the charge. “Don’t they dance here, mamma?” “Of course not. Did I tell you that we were going to a ball?” “Oh, no! but sometimes they dance at receptions; it’s much better fun then.” “You think of nothing but pleasure and dancing!” “Oh! I am so fond of it! Father told me that he would give a great ball next winter.” “A great ball! Oh! I hope that he will change his mind.” “Why don’t you want to give one, mamma?” “No matter; hush!” The girl held her peace, but indulged in a pretty little pout; whereupon her mother seized her hand and pressed it, and said in a gentler tone and with an expression of the deepest melancholy: “I distress you, Ernestine; you don’t love your mother.” The girl replied by putting her mother’s hand to her lips and murmuring: “Oh! you know that I do!” Suddenly, happening to turn her head, Mademoiselle de Noirmont caught sight of Chérubin, who did not know which leg to stand on. When she saw that young man standing behind her and cutting such an amusing figure, young Ernestine only half restrained her longing to laugh. “What is the matter?” her mother asked her; “what has happened to you? You should not laugh so in company--it is not proper.”