Towards the end of the month, Madame Deberle grew excited over a grand idea.  The thought of giving a children’s ball had suddenly struck her.  The season was already far advanced, but the scheme took such hold on her foolish brain that she hurried on the preparations with reckless haste.  She desired that the affair should be quite perfect; it was to be a fancy-dress ball.  And, in her own home, and in other people’s houses, everywhere, in short, she now spoke of nothing but her ball.  The conversations on the subject which took place in the garden were endless.  The foppish Malignon thought the project rather stupid, still he condescended to take some interest in it, and promised to bring a comic singer with whom he was acquainted.

One afternoon, while they were all sitting under the trees, Juliette introduced the grave question of the costumes which Lucien and Jeanne should wear.

“It is so difficult to make up one’s mind,” said she.  “I have been thinking of a clown’s dress in white satin.”

“Oh, that’s too common!” declared Malignon.  “There will be a round dozen of clowns at your ball.  Wait, you must have something novel.”  Thereupon he began gravely pondering, sucking the head of his cane all the while.

Pauline came up at the moment, and proclaimed her desire to appear as a soubrette.

“You!” screamed Madame Deberle, in astonishment.  “You won’t appear in costume at all!  Do you think yourself a child, you great stupid?  You will oblige me by coming in a white dress.”

“Oh, but it would have pleased me so!” exclaimed Pauline, who, despite her eighteen years and plump girlish figure, liked nothing better than to romp with a band of little ones.

Meanwhile Helene sat at the foot of her tree working away, and raising her head at times to smile at the doctor and Monsieur Rambaud, who stood in front of her conversing.  Monsieur Rambaud had now become quite intimate with the Deberle family.

“Well,” said the doctor, “and how are you going to dress, Jeanne?”

He got no further, for Malignon burst out:  “I’ve got it!  I’ve got it!  Lucien must be a marquis of the time of Louis XV.”

He waved his cane with a triumphant air; but, as no one of the company hailed his idea with enthusiasm, he appeared astonished.  “What, don’t you see it?  Won’t it be for Lucien to receive his little guests?  So you place him, dressed as a marquis, at the drawing-room door, with a large bouquet of roses on his coat, and he bows to the ladies.”

“But there will be dozens of marquises at the ball!” objected Juliette.

“What does that matter?” replied Malignon coolly.  “The more marquises the greater the fun.  I tell you it is the best thing you can hit upon.  The master of the house must be dressed as a marquis, or the ball will be a complete failure.”

Such was his conviction of his scheme’s success that at last it was adopted by Juliette with enthusiasm.  As a matter of fact, a dress in the Pompadour style, white satin embroidered with posies, would be altogether charming.