Not so with Julia: convinced that she was going to delight every one, she walked across the room with a lofty air, which caused much laughter. She heard this, and reddened with anger, especially when she saw one lady speaking in a whisper, while looking at her with a quizzical air, and heard another behind her saying, "How ridiculous to interrupt the ball, in order to let that little girl dance the gavotte!" However, she was not discouraged; she did her best, held her head still higher than usual, and displayed all those graces which had obtained her such brilliant success at school. She was, therefore, dreadfully annoyed when, at the end, the ironical laughter which mingled with the applause, and even the exaggeration of the applause itself, showed her that she was an object of ridicule. Scarcely had she finished her last courtesy, when the young ladies and gentlemen crowded forward to take their places in the country dance. Julia, as with difficulty she passed through them, conducted by her partner, who was wiping his brow, heard it murmured around her, "It is well that that is over; it has been a very stupid affair."
She felt deeply humiliated; her heart was oppressed, and she cast down her eyes: she supposed that no one would again ask her to dance, and indeed, two country dances had taken place without her having been invited to join. Anticipating, therefore, nothing but vexation from this ball, from which she had promised herself so much pleasure, she told her mother that she was tired, and entreated her to go home. Madame de Vallonay easily guessed the cause of her fatigue; but that she might not increase her annoyance, she did not mention the subject that evening. The following day, however, she wished to know whether it was she who requested to dance the gavotte. Julia, though very much ashamed, confessed that it was.
"It has turned out very unfortunately for you, my poor Julia," said Madame de Vallonay; "what a pity that you did not call to mind at that moment the story of Madame Croque-Mitaine."
"It would have taught you that we always run the risk of committing folly, when we wish to follow one general course of action, without reflecting whether the circumstances are altered. Thus, Louisa and Paul, who were accustomed to run about alone, in the country, in places where there was no danger of their meeting with carriages, or cabriolets, or passers by, never thought that in the streets of Paris, it would be quite a different affair; and you, who were in the habit of dancing the gavotte at school, where you were applauded, because the strangers who were there were anxious to please the mistress, did not reflect that it would be quite another matter when you danced it in the midst of a large number of persons, who took no interest in you, and who were assembled there to dance themselves, and not to look at you."