CHAPTER XXXIX
THE BALL
The luxurious dresses, the glitter of the candles; all those pretty arms and fine shoulders; the bouquets, the intoxicating strains of Rossini, the paintings of Ciceri. I am beside myself.—Journeys of Useri.
"You are in a bad temper," said the marquise de la Mole to her; "let me caution you, it is ungracious at a ball."
"I only have a headache," answered Mathilde disdainfully, "it is too hot here."
At this moment the old Baron Tolly became ill and fell down, as though to justify mademoiselle de la Mole's remark. They were obliged to carry him away. They talked about apoplexy. It was a disagreeable incident.
Mathilde did not bother much about it.
She made a point of never looking at old men, or at anyone who had the reputation of being bad company.
She danced in order to escape the conversation about the apoplexy, which was not apoplexy inasmuch as the baron put in an appearance the following day.
"But Sorel does not come," she said to herself after she had danced. She was almost looking round for him when she found him in another salon. Astonishing, but he seemed to have lost that impassive coldness that was so natural to him; he no longer looked English.
"He is talking to comte Altamira who was sentenced to death," said Mathilde to herself. "His eye is full of a sombre fire; he looks like a prince in disguise; his haughtiness has become twice as pronounced."
Julien came back to where she was, still talking to Altamira. She looked at Altamira fixedly, studying his features in order
