Nothing, except the movements, and the changing expression, more than once repeated in the same manner, showed that they were studied. A crowd of gentlemen, elderly and young, gathered behind her, and seemed altogether bewitched by her beauty, her dancing, and peculiar manner; because, whilst her vis-a-vis, a handsome blondine, with full figure, was incessantly laughing and chattering, the Cleopatra like beauty stood perfectly quiet, proud, silent, and, as it seemed, indifferent to every thing but the dance. I neither saw her smile, nor speak with any one, but—she knew very well how she attracted eyes and hearts, and—woe to him who became her slave!—and yet she looked so young, so lovable, so—innocent! I felt inclined to exclaim, like Rowland Hill to Lady Erskine, “All this glory must pass away, but thy soul must still live on!”
The ball closed with a Malakoff polka, full of the roar of cannon effects in the music, but in which only few couples trailed lazily along, in no condition to keep up with the music. They had called for champagne, but it would not foam: the pleasure, both of life and of dancing, was wanting. I was most amused by a couple, which, as I thought, looked like a country shoemaker and his wife, who danced with an enthusiasm and a gravity—and always together—which evidently showed that they were fully determined to have dancing and amusement enough for their money (three francs being paid for entrance), untroubled by the rest of the world—so might it be, the poor, honest couple! Of youth, beauty, or grace, they had none!
