As he spoke, Pier-Angelo started up the wooden staircase he had helped to put in place, for he and his son had been talking in the garden, where he had thrown himself on the turf to recover his breath. Michel detained him, and, instead of leaving him, said with inexplicable emotion: "Father, are you entitled to remain at the ball after the invited guests have arrived?" "Why, surely," replied Pier-Angelo, surprised by the young man's manner. "Several of us were selected from each branch of trade, about a hundred men in all, to see that nothing goes wrong during the festivity. In the midst of so much commotion, a board may give way, or a piece of canvas get loose and take fire from the candles; a thousand accidents always have to be guarded against, and a certain number of tried arms always kept in readiness to repair them. We may have nothing to do; and in that case we shall pass the night merrily at table; but, whatever happens, we are at hand. Moreover, we have the right to go everywhere, in order to have an eye upon everything and to prevent fire, confusion, the bad smell from the candles that go out, the fall of a picture, a chandelier, a vase, heaven knows what! We are always wanted, and we make a circuit of the rooms, turn and turn about, if for nothing more than to prevent pickpockets from creeping in." "And you are paid to do this servant's work?" "We are paid if we choose. To those who do it purely from good-will the princess always makes some acceptable present, and for old friends like me she always has a pleasant word and some delicate little attention. And then, even if it brought me in nothing, isn't it my duty to place my foresight, my activity, and my loyalty at the service of a woman whom I esteem as much as I esteem her? I have no need of her assistance as yet; but I have seen how she helps those who get into difficulty, and I know that she would dress my wounds with her own hands if I were wounded." "Yes, yes, I know all about that," rejoined Michel, gloomily; "benevolence, charity, pity, alms-giving!" "Come, come! Master Pier-Angelo," said a valet, who passed them at that moment, "it is time to change your clothes. Take off your apron, the guests are arriving; go to the dressing-room, or to the buffet first, if you like." "True," said Pier-Angelo, "we are a little untidy to rub elbows with such beautiful gowns. Farewell, Michel, I am going to beautify myself. Go home and rest." Michel glanced at his own clothes, which were soiled and torn in a thousand places. His pride returned; he slowly descended the steps leading to the main ball-room and walked across it, amid the resplendent groups which were beginning to appear. A young man who entered as Michel was going out jostled him roughly. Michel was on the point of flying into a rage; but he restrained himself when he saw that the young man in question was as distraught as he.