Artlessly she smiled at herself, surprised to find herself thus dainty, attractive, almost pretty. As a matter of fact, she did have that ethereal iridescence of beauty which the unusual splendor of a party dress projects at once upon women. It is an ephemeral charm, light as a pastel, which fades away, evaporates in the heat and the jealousy of a ball; but at home it encourages the most homely. For one instant in the solitude of her own room, in front of her own mirror, a woman finds herself beautiful enough, too beautiful--and she is willing to go, and does, in fact, go. Her Uncle Cyprien, in a friendly mood, observed her little coquettish ways: "Well, my nephew? And so we are going to make merry in the merry world?" "Oh, prodigiously," Thérèse replied with a sigh. "We must enjoy ourselves in this world.... There will always be people to enjoy themselves.... Always there will be a frivolous and depraved society.... If they did not make merry on the other side of the river, they would do it here.... It is the rule and you cannot alter it...." Uncle Cyprien brushed back with his hand his hair which was so close-trimmed that is crackled with a ruffling noise under his fingers. He murmured disdainfully: "Philosophy! Philosophy!... You know, my dear nephew, that we do not argue, you and I, ... you are too strong and too sure of yourself. There, I don't mind admitting it, you make me feel ill at ease!" M. Raindal returned, followed by his wife, her form hidden in her long cape. She wore in her hair an old mauve aigrette, the barbs of which were limp and spread out like a worn-out paint-brush. "Well, are we ready?" the master of the house asked, looking at his brother. "Yes, we'll all go down together. Come along!" A cab was waiting outside. Brigitte gave the driver's number to M. Raindal. The family sat closely huddled in the back seat. Uncle Cyprien closed the door on them and shouted as the carriage began to move: "Good luck! A pleasant evening, nephew!" He gave a friendly pinch to the chin of Brigitte, who stood stupidly smiling. "Good night, my girl.... Go and dream of a fiancé!" He turned up the collar of his coat and took the rue Vavin. In the fever of his triumph at every step he flourished his thick cornel stick as if it had been a gory mace. CHAPTER IV The ball given by M. and Mme. Lemeunier de Saulvard (of the Institute) "in their apartment" in the avenue Kléber, on the occasion of the engagement of their niece, Mlle. Genevieve de Saulvard, to M. Brisset de Saffry de Lamorneraie, lieutenant of the 21st hussars, had attracted a large assembly of guests. The army, the fine arts, literature, science, the upper bourgeoisie, men of learning, club-men, men of finance and men of the drawing-room--the full contingent of their acquaintances filled their apartment after 11 o'clock. All the guests, for lack of any other common ground, were at least agreed on the subject of the party and voted it a success.