But the dancing girl stood motionless in the doorway.Her sudden appearance produced a curious effect on the group.There is no doubt that a vague and indistinct desire to please the handsome officer animated the whole party，and that the brilliant uniform was the target at which they aimed all their coquettish darts；also，from the time of his being present there had arisen among them a certain covert rivalry，scarcely acknowledged to themselves，but which was none the less constantly revealed in their gestures and in their remarks.Nevertheless，as they all possessed much the same degree of beauty，they fought with the same weapons，and each might reasonably hope for victory.The arrival of the gipsy roughly destroyed this equilibrium.Her beauty was of so rare a quality that the moment she entered the room she seemed to illuminate it with a sort of light peculiar to herself.In this restricted space，in this rich frame of sombre hangings and dark panelling，she was incomparably more beautiful and radiant than in the open square.It was like bringing a torch out of the daylight into the shade.The noble maidens were dazzled by her in spite of themselves.Each one felt that her beauty had in some degree suffered.Consequently they instantly and with one accord changed their line of battle（if we may be allowed the term）without a single word having passed between them.For the instincts of women understand and respond to one another far quicker than the intelligence of men.A common foe stood in their midst；they all felt it，and combined for defence.One drop of wine is sufficient to tinge a whole glass of water；to diffuse a certain amount of ill temper throughout a gathering of pretty women，it is only necessary for one still prettier to arrive upon the scene，especially if there is but one man of he company.
Thus the gipsy girl's reception was glacial in its coldness.They looked her up and down，then turned to each other，and all was said；they were confederates.Meanwhile the girl，waiting in vain for them to address her，was so covered with confusion that she dared not raise her eyes.
The captain was the first to break the silence.'I'faith，'he said，with his air of fatuous assurance，'a bewitching creature！What say you，fair cousin？'
This remark，which a more tactful admirer would at least have made in an undertone，was not calculated to allay the feminine jealousy so sharply on the alert in the presence of the gipsy girl.
Fleur-de-Lys answered her fiancé in an affected tone of contemptuous indifference，'Ah，not amiss.'
The others put their heads together and whispered.
At last Madame Al e，not the least jealous of the party because she was so for her daughter，accosted the dancer：'Come hither，little one.'
'Come hither，little one，'repeated，with comical dignity，Berangère，who would have reached about to her elbow.
The Egyptian advanced towards the noble lady.
'Pretty one，'said P us，impressively advancing on his side a step or two towards her，'I know not if I enjoy the supreme felicity of being remembered by you；but—'
She interrupted him，with a smile and a glance of infinite sweetness—'Oh，yes，'she said.
'She has a good memory，'observed Fleur-de-Lys.
'Well，'resumed P us，'but you fled in a great hurry that evening.Were you frightened of me？'
'Oh，no，'answered the gipsy.And in the tone of this'Oh，no，'following on the'Oh，yes，'there was an indefinable something which stabbed poor Fleur-de-Lys to the heart.
'You left in your stead，ma belle，'continued the soldier，whose tongue was loosened now that he spoke to a girl of the streets，'a wry-faced，one-eyed hunchback varlet—the Bishop's bell-ringer，by what I can hear.They tell me he is an archdeacon's bastard and a devil by birth.He has a droll name too—Ember Week—Palm Sunday—Shrove Tuesday—something of that kind—some bell-ringing festival name，at any rate.And so he had the assurance to carry you off，as if you were made for church beadles！It was like his impudence.And what the devil did he want with you，this screech-owl，eh？'
'I do not know，'she answered.
'Conceive of such insolence！A bell-ringer to carry off a girl，like a vicomte—a clown poaching on a gentleman's preserves！Unheard-of presumption！For the rest，he paid dearly for it.Master Pierrat Torterue is the roughest groom that ever curried a rascal；and I can tell you，for your satisfaction，that your bell-ringer's hide got a thorough dressing at his hands.'
'Poor man！'murmured the gipsy，recalling at these words the scene of the pillory.
The captain burst out laughing.'Corne de f！your pity is as well-placed as a feather in a sow's tail！May I have a paunch like a pope，if—'He drew up short.'Crave your pardon，mesdames！I believe I was on the point of forgetting myself.'
'Fie，sir！'said La Gaillefontaine.
'He speaks to this creature in her own language，'said Fleur-de-Lys under her breath，her vexation increasing with every moment.Nor was this vexation diminished by seeing the captain delighted with the gipsy girl，but still more with himself，turn on his heel and repeat with blatant and soldier-like gallantry：'A lovely creature，on my soul！'
'Very barbarously dressed！'observed Diane de Christeuil，showing her white teeth.
This remark was a flash of light to the others.It showed them where to direct their attack on the gipsy.There being no vulnerable spot in her beauty，they threw themselves upon her dress.
'That is very true，'said La Montmichel.'Pray，how comest thou to be running thus barenecked about the streets，without either gorget or kerchief？'
'And a petticoat so short as to fill one with alarm，'added La Gaillefontaine.
'My girl，'continued Fleur-de-Lys spitefully，'thou wilt certainly be fined for that gold belt.'
'My poor girl，'said Diane，with a cruel smile，'if thou hadst the decency to wear sleeves on thy arms，they would not be so burned by the sun.'