Bursts of subdued laughter came from behind fans, while the gentlemen talked in whispers.

Above all this whispering was heard the distant sound of the cornet at the peasants' ball.
Leaning over the balustrade, in a shady corner, far from the noise which troubled him and far from the fete which hurt him, Pierre was dreaming.
His eyes were fixed on the illuminations in the park, but he did not see them.

He thought of his vanished hopes.

Another was beloved by Micheline, and in a few hours he would take her away, triumphant and happy.

A great sadness stole over the young man's spirit; he was disgusted with life and hated humanity.