I’ve been asked for the next dance, by Fefed.’
‘And me,’ said Marie, who was radiant, ‘by Monmond! Ah! Here comes Mademoiselle!’
Here, in fact came both ladies.
They stood framed in turn in the little doorway at the far end of the room; first, little Aimee who had only changed into an evening top, an all-white, filmy bodice from which emerged delicate dimpled shoulders and slim, rounded arms; in her hair, just above the ear, white and yellow roses made the golden eyes look more golden still – they had no need of them to make them sparkle!
Mademoiselle Sergent, still in black, but trimmed with sequins this time, wore a dress that was cut only very slightly low at the neck, revealing firm, amber-tinted flesh.
Her foaming hair cast a warm shadow over her ill-favoured face and made her eyes shine out; she really looked quite well.
Behind her came the serpentine train of the boarders, in white, high-necked dresses, all very commonplace.
Luce rushed up to tell me that she made herself ‘decolletee’ by tucking in the top of her dress, in spite of her sister’s opposition.
She had been right to do so.
Almost at the same moment Dutertre entered by the big main door; red, excited, and talking too loud.
On account of the rumours that circulated in the town, the whole room was keenly watching these simultaneous entries of the future Deputy and his protege.
But neither of them fluttered an eyelash: Dutertre went straight up to Mademoiselle Sergent, greeted her and, as the orchestra was just beginning a polka, he boldly swept her off with him.
She, flushed and with her eyes half-closed, did not talk at all and danced … very gracefully, upon my word!
The couples re-formed and attention was turned elsewhere.
Having conducted the Headmistress back to her place, the District Superintendent came up to me – a flattering attention, very much remarked.
He mazurkaed violently, without waltzing, but whirling round too much, squeezing me too tight and talking too much into my hair:
‘You’re as pretty as a cherub!’
‘In the first place, Doctor, why do you call me “tu”, like a child?
I’m practically grown-up.’
‘No, have I got to restrain myself?
Just look at this grown-up person! … Oh, your hair and that white wreath!
How I’d love to take it off you!’
‘I swear that you won’t be the one who’ll take it off!’
‘Be quiet, or I’ll kiss you in front of everyone!’
‘No one would be surprised – they’ve seen you do it to so many others …’
‘True.
But why won’t you come and see me?
It’s not fear that stops you, you’ve got thoroughly naughty eyes … You see, I’ll catch you again one of these days; don’t laugh, you’ll end up by making me lose my temper!’
‘Pooh! Don’t make yourself out so wicked – I don’t believe you.’
He laughed, showing his teeth, and I thought to myself:
‘Talk as much as you like: next winter, I’ll be in Paris and you’ll never run into me there!’
After me, he went off to whirl round with little Aimee, while Monmond, in an alpaca morning-coat, invited me to dance.
I didn’t refuse, certainly not!
Provided they’re wearing gloves, I’m very willing to dance with the local boys (the ones I know well) who are charming to me, in their way.
Then I danced again with my tall ‘dress-suit’ of the first waltz up till the moment when I took a little breather during a quadrille so as not to get flushed and also because quadrilles seem to me ridiculous.
Claire joined me, gentle and languishing, softened tonight with a melancholy that became her.
I questioned her:
‘Tell me, is everyone talking about you because the handsome schoolmaster’s so assiduous?’
‘Oh, do you think so? … They can’t say anything, because there’s nothing to say.’
‘Come on! You’re not going to pretend to make mysteries with me, are you?’
‘Good heavens, no!
But it’s the truth – there really is nothing! … Look, we’ve met twice, tonight’s the third time.
He talks in a way that’s absolutely … captivating!
And just now he asked me if I ever went for walks in the evening in the Fir Plantation.’
‘Everyone knows what that means.
What’s your answer going to be?’
She smiled, without speaking, with a hesitant, yet longing expression.
She would go.
They’re odd, these little girls!
Here was one who was pretty and gentle, docile and sentimental, and who, from the age of fourteen, had got herself deserted by half a dozen lovers in succession.