"What do I care?" replied Martial. "Madame de Soulanges is worth
millions!"

At the end of the quadrille more than one whisper was poured into more
than one ear. The less pretty women made moral speeches to their
partners, commenting on the budding liaison between Martial and the
Comtesse de Soulanges. The handsomest wondered at her easy surrender.
The men could not understand such luck as the Baron's, not regarding
him as particularly fascinating. A few indulgent women said it was not
fair to judge the Countess too hastily; young wives would be in a very
hapless plight if an expressive look or a few graceful dancing steps
were enough to compromise a woman.

Martial alone knew the extent of his happiness. During the last
figure, when the ladies had to form the /moulinet/, his fingers clasped
those of the Countess, and he fancied that, through the thin perfumed
kid of her gloves, the young wife's grasp responded to his amorous
appeal.

"Madame," said he, as the quadrille ended, "do not go back to the
odious corner where you have been burying your face and your dress
until now. Is admiration the only benefit you can obtain from the
jewels that adorn your white neck and beautifully dressed hair? Come
and take a turn through the rooms to enjoy the scene and yourself."

Madame de Soulanges yielded to her seducer, who thought she would be
his all the more surely if he could only show her off. Side by side
they walked two or three times amid the groups who crowded the rooms.
The Comtesse de Soulanges, evidently uneasy, paused for an instant at