The bracelet gleamed in the night-air and made a brilliant splash; then the water resumed its tranquillity.

Micheline, astonished, looked at Serge, who came toward her, and very humbly said: "I beg your pardon." The young wife did not answer, but her eyes filled with tears; a smile brightened her lips, and hurriedly taking his arm, she led him into the drawing-room.
Dancing was going on there.

The young ladies of Pontoise, and the cream of Creil, had come to the fete, bent on not losing such an opportunity of enjoying themselves.

Under the watchful eyes of their mothers, who, decked out in grand array, were seated along the walls, they were gamboling, in spite of the stifling heat, with all the impetuosity of young provincials habitually deprived of the pleasures of the ballroom.
Crossing the room, Micheline and Serge reached Madame Desvarennes's boudoir.
It was delightfully cool in there.

Cayrol had taken refuge there with Jeanne, and Mademoiselle Susanne Herzog.