The performance of the "Amours of handsome Narcissus and the nymph Echo," was to begin at eleven o'clock. The large drawing-room was already full at half-past ten, and as there was to be a ball afterwards, the ladies were there in costumes, seated in arm-chairs ranged in a semi-circle in front of the improvised stage--a platform, hidden by two broad curtains of red velvet with golden fringe, running on iron rods. The gentlemen stood behind, or moved to and fro. At ten o'clock, the upholsterers had struck the last nails home. The platform rose up at the end of the drawing-room, occupying a portion of this long gallery. Access to the stage was obtained by the smoking-room, converted into a green-room for the artistes. In addition, the ladies had at their disposal several apartments on the first floor, where an army of maids prepared the costumes of the different _tableaux_. It was half-past eleven, and the curtains were not yet drawn aside. A loud buzz filled the drawing-room. The rows of arm-chairs were occupied by a most astonishing crowd of marchionesses, noble dames, milk-maids, Spanish beauties, shepherdesses, and sultanas; while the compact mass of dress-coats set a large dark stain beside the glistening of light stuffs and bare shoulders, glowing with the bright sparkle of jewellery. The women alone were in costume. It was already warm. The three chandeliers lit up the golden sheen of the drawing-room. At last Monsieur Hupel de la Noue was seen to emerge from an opening on the left hand side of the platform. He had been assisting the ladies since eight o'clock in the evening. His dress-coat bore on the left sleeve the mark of three white fingers--a woman's little hand which had rested there after dabbling in a box of rice powder. But the prefect had something else than the mishaps of his attire to think about! He had huge eyes, and a swollen and somewhat pale face. He did not seem to see anyone. And advancing towards Saccard, whom he recognised among a group of grave-looking men, he said to him in an undertone: "Dash it all! Your wife has lost her girdle of foliage. We are in a pretty pickle!" He swore, and felt inclined to beat the people around him. Then, without waiting for a reply, without looking at anything, he turned his back, plunged under the draperies again and disappeared. The singular apparition of this gentleman made the ladies smile.