But honest Risler saw nothing.

The excitement, the dancing, the music, the flowers, the lights made him drunk, made him mad.

He believed that every one breathed the same atmosphere of bliss beyond compare which enveloped him.

He had no perception of the rivalries, the petty hatreds that met and passed one another above all those bejewelled foreheads.
He did not notice Delobelle, standing with his elbow on the mantel, one hand in the armhole of his waistcoat and his hat upon his hip, weary of his eternal attitudinizing, while the hours slipped by and no one thought of utilizing his talents.

He did not notice M.Chebe, who was prowling darkly between the two doors, more incensed than ever against the Fromonts.