Jacques realized, a little belatedly, that he had holed up in the French Embassy for the past few weeks without bothering to go and represent France anywhere. He was still rather glum about the whole idea of an evening of Forced, Sustained, Social Interaction with the Enemy English, but he would get scolded if he didn't.
Thus, Jacques put on his best clothes and proceeded to lurk in a corner with a glass of punch, sincerely hoping no one would see him, or (yet worse!) try to dance with him.