The ball to which Paul and Etta were going was managed by some titled
ladies who knew their business well. The price of the tickets was
fabulous. The lady patronesses of the great Charity Ball were tactful
and unabashed. They drew the necessary line (never more necessary than
it is to-day) with a firm hand.
The success of the ball was therefore a foregone conclusion. In French
fiction there is invariably a murmur of applause when the heroine enters
a room full of people, which fact serves, at all events, to show the
breeding and social status of persons with whom French novelists are in
the habit of associating. There was therefore no applause when Paul and
Etta made their appearance, but that lady had, nevertheless, the
satisfaction of perceiving glances, not only of admiration, but of
interest and even of disapproval, among her own sex. Her dress she knew
to be perfect, and when she perceived the craning pale face of the
inevitable lady-journalist, peering between the balusters of a gallery,
she thoughtfully took up a prominent position immediately beneath that
gallery, and slowly turned round like a beautifully garnished joint
before the fire of cheap publicity.
To Paul this ball was much like others. There were a number of the
friends of his youth--tall, clean-featured, clean-limbed men, with a
tendency toward length and spareness--who greeted him almost
affectionately.
Pages:
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178