Renée had refused to take part in the cotillon. She had been nervously gay since the beginning of the ball, scarcely dancing, but mingling with the groups, unable to remain still. Her friends found her strange. During the evening she had talked of making a balloon journey with a celebrated aeronaut with whom all Paris was occupied. When the cotillon began she was vexed not to be able to walk about at her ease, so she stationed herself at the hall-door, shaking hands with the gentlemen who left and talking with her husband's intimate friends. Baron Gouraud, whom a lackey carried off in his fur cloak, paid a final eulogium to her Otaheitian's costume. Meanwhile Monsieur Toutin-Laroche shook hands with Saccard. "Maxime relies on you," said the latter. "Quite so," replied the new senator. And turning towards Renée: "I haven't congratulated you, madame. So the dear boy is now settled!" And as she gave an astonished smile: "My wife doesn't yet know," observed Saccard, "We have decided this evening on Mademoiselle de Mareuil's marriage with Maxime." She continued smiling, bowing to Monsieur Toutin-Laroche who went off saying: "You sign the contract on Sunday, eh? I am going to Nevers about a mining affair, but I shall be back in time." Renée remained for a moment alone in the middle of the hall. She no longer smiled, and as she gradually dived into what she had just learnt, she was seized with a great shudder. She looked at the red velvet hangings, the rare plants, the pots of majolica with a fixed stare. Then she said aloud: "I must speak to him." And she returned to the drawing-room. But she had to remain near the entry. A figure of the cotillon barred the way. The orchestra was playing a waltz air in a low key. The ladies, holding each other hands, formed a circle, one of those circles that are formed by little girls singing, "Giroflé girofla," and they spun round as quickly as possible, pulling one another's arms, laughing and sliding. In the centre, a gentleman--it was the malicious Monsieur Simpson--held a long pink scarf in his hand; he raised it with the gesture of a fisherman who is about to cast a net; but he did not hurry, he no doubt thought it funny to let these ladies turn round and tire themselves. They breathed hard and asked for mercy. Then he threw the scarf, and he threw it with such skill that it went and wound around the shoulders of Madame d'Espanet and Madame Haffner who were turning side by side. It was one of the Yankee's bits of fun. He then wished to waltz with both ladies at once, and he had already taken them both by the waist, one with his left arm and the other with his right, when Monsieur de Saffré, in the severe tone of the king of the cotillon, said: "You can't dance with two ladies."