“How kind you are!” she exclaimed gratefully. “If I’d known you were coming I’d have had something ready for you today, though not as pretty as this, I’m afraid.”
“Thank you. It isn’t what it should be, but you have improved it,” he added, as she snapped the silver bracelet on her wrist.
“Please don’t.”
“I thought you liked that sort of thing?”
“Not from you, it doesn’t sound natural, and I like your old bluntness better.”
“I’m glad of it,” he answered, with a look of relief, then buttoned her gloves for her and asked if his tie was straight, just as he used to do when they went to parties together at home.
The company assembled in the long salle à mangerjh that evening was such as one sees nowhere but on the Continent. The hospitable Americans had invited every acquaintance they had in Nice, and having no prejudice against titles, secured a few to add luster to their Christmas ball.
A Russian prince condescended to sit in a corner for an hour and talk with a massive lady, dressed like Hamlet’s motherji in black velvet with a pearl bridle under her chin. A Polish count, aged eighteen, devoted himself to the ladies, who pronounced him “a fascinating dear,” and a German Serene Something, having come for the supper alone, roamed vaguely about, seeking what he might devour. Baron Rothschild’s private secretary, a large-nosed Jew in tight boots, affably beamed upon the world, as if his master’s name crowned him with a golden halo; a stout Frenchman, who knew the Emperor, came to indulge his mania for dancing, and Lady de Jones, a British matron, adorned the scene with her little family of eight. Of course, there were many light-footed, shrill-voiced American girls, handsome, lifeless-looking English ditto,jj and a few plain but piquante French demoiselles;jk likewise the usual set of traveling young gentlemen who disported themselves gaily, while mammas of all nations lined the walls and smiled upon them benignly when they danced with their daughters.
Any young girl can imagine Amy’s state of mind when she “took the stage” that night, leaning on Laurie’s arm. She knew she looked well, she loved to dance, she felt that her foot was on her native heath in a ballroom, and enjoyed the delightful sense of power which comes when young girls first discover the new and lovely kingdom they are born to rule by virtue of beauty, youth, and womanhood. She did pity the Davis girls, who were awkward, plain, and destitute of escort, except a grim papa and three grimmer maiden aunts, and she bowed to them in her friendliest manner as she passed, which was good of her, as it permitted them to see her dress, and burn with curiosity to know who her distinguished-looking friend might be. With the first burst of the band, Amy’s color rose, her eyes began to sparkle, and her feet to tap the floor impatiently, for she danced well and wanted Laurie to know it: therefore the shock she received can better be imagined than described, when he said in a perfectly tranquil tone, “Do you care to dance?”
“One usually does at a ball.”
Her amazed look and quick answer caused Laurie to repair his error as fast as possible.
“I meant the first dance. May I have the honor?”
“I can give you one if I put off the Count. He dances divinely, but he will excuse me, as you are an old friend,” said Amy, hoping that the name would have a good effect, and show Laurie that she was not to be trifled with.
“Nice little boy, but rather a short Pole to support was all the satisfaction she got, however.
“A daughter of the gods,
Divinely tall, and most divinely fair,”19
The set in which they found themselves was composed of English, and Amy was compelled to walk decorously through a cotillion, feeling all the while as if she could dance the tarantellajl with a relish. Laurie resigned her to the “nice little boy,” and went to do his duty to Flo, without securing Amy for the joys to come, which reprehensible want of forethought was properly punished, for she immediately engaged herself till supper, meaning to relent if he then gave any signs of penitence. She showed him her ball book with demure satisfaction when he strolled instead of rushed up to claim her for the next, a glorious polka redowa; but his polite regrets didn’t impose upon her, and when she gallopaded away with the Count, she saw Laurie sit down by her aunt with an actual expression of relief.
That was unpardonable, and Amy took no more notice of him for a long while, except a word now and then when she came to her chaperon between the dances for a necessary pin or a moment’s rest. Her anger had a good effect, however, for she hid it under a smiling face, and seemed unusually blithe and brilliant. Laurie’s eyes followed her with pleasure, for she neither romped nor sauntered, but danced with spirit and grace, making the delightsome pastime what it should be. He very naturally fell to studying her from this new point of view, and before the evening was half over, had decided that “little Amy was going to make a very charming woman.”
It was a lively scene, for soon the spirit of the social season took possession of everyone, and Christmas merriment made all faces shine, hearts happy, and heels light. The musicians fiddled, tooted, and banged as if they enjoyed it, everybody danced who could, and those who couldn’t admired their neighbors with uncommon warmth. The air was dark with Davises, and many Joneses gamboled like a flock of young giraffes. The golden secretary darted through the room like a meteor with a dashing Frenchwoman who carpeted the floor with her pink satin train. The Serene Teuton found the supper table and was happy, eating steadily through the bill of fare, and dismayed the garçonsjm by the ravages he committed. But the Emperor’s friend covered himself with glory, for he danced everything, whether he knew it or not, and introduced impromptu pirouettes when the figures bewildered him. The boyish abandon of that stout man was charming to behold, for though he “carried weight,” he danced like an India-rubber ball. He ran, he flew, he pranced, his face glowed, his bald head shone, his coattails waved wildly, his pumps actually twinkled in the air, and when the music stopped, he wiped the drops from his brow, and beamed upon his fellow men like a French Pickwick without glasses.
Amy and her Pole distinguished themselves by equal enthusiasm but more graceful agility, and Laurie found himself involuntarily keeping time to the rhythmic rise and fall of the white slippers as they flew by as indefatigably as if winged. When little Vladimir finally relinquished her, with assurances that he was “desolated to leave so early,” she was ready to rest, and see how her recreant knight had borne his punishment.
It had been successful, for at three-and-twenty, blighted affections find a balm in friendly society, and young nerves will thrill, young blood dance, and healthy young spirits rise, when subjected to the enchantment of beauty, light, music, and motion. Laurie had a waked-up look as he rose to give her his seat; and when he hurried away to bring her some supper, she said to herself, with a satisfied smile, “Ah, I thought that would do him good!”
“You look like Balzac’s ‘Femme peinte par elle-même,’”jn he said, as he fanned her with one hand and held her coffee cup in the other.
“My rouge won’t come off.” And Amy rubbed her brilliant cheek, and showed him her white glove with a sober simplicity that made him laugh outright.
“What do you call this stuff?” he asked, touching a fold of her dress that had blown over his knee.
“Illusion.”
“Good name for it. It’s very pretty—new thing, isn’t it?”
“It’s as old as the hills; you have seen it on dozens of girls, and you never found out that it was pretty till now—stupide!”
“I never saw it on you before, which accounts for the mistake, you see.”
“None of that, it is forbidden. I’d rather take coffee than compliments just now. No, don’t lounge, it makes me nervous.”
Laurie sat bolt upright, and meekly took her empty plate feeling an odd sort of pleasure in having “little Amy” order him about, for she had lost her shyness now, and felt an irresistible desire to trample on him, as girls have a delightful way of doing when lords of creation show any sig
ns of subjection.
“Where did you learn all this sort of thing?” he asked with a quizzical look.
“As ‘this sort of thing’ is rather a vague expression, would you kindly explain?” returned Amy, knowing perfectly well what he meant, but wickedly leaving him to describe what is indescribable.
“Well—the general air, the style, the self-possession, the—the—illusion—you know,” laughed Laurie, breaking down and helping himself out of his quandary with the new word.
Amy was gratified, but of course didn’t show it, and demurely answered, “Foreign life polishes one in spite of one’s self, I study as well as play, and as for this”—with a little gesture toward her dress—“why, tulle is cheap, posies to be had for nothing, and I am used to making the most of my poor little things.”