I have made up for lost time since, and I shall have occasion to refer to her more than once.
I had therefore learnt, for my three francs per month, a rather eccentric style of dancing, but nevertheless it was not wanting in deftness or power. Fourcade led off first; Fourcade was one of Vestris' best pupils.
I repeat that people really danced at that time, and all the flourishes of choreography which are thought absurd to-day were then considered elegant.
At the first steps Fourcade took, there was an audible murmur of admiration. Those who were not dancing stood on their seats to look at him; while the dancers themselves lengthened their chasses-croisés or their traversés, to seize an entrechat or a flic-flac. Fourcade's debut was a triumph.
It was on this occasion that I discovered nature had endowed me with the gift of assimilation. During the short avant-deux made by my vis-à-vis, I realised the superiority of such dancing over my own. I picked out from among the complicated twinklings of his ankles and the crossing and uncrossing of his legs those evolutions which were within my compass if simply performed, and, when my turn came to take the lead, a kindly rumour reached me, in the wake of my partner's immense success, that I was doing better than had been expected of me.
From that moment I became crazy on dancing, and the frenzy lasted until it became the fashion for young men of twenty-four or twenty-five to declare that they were too bored or too busy thinking of other things, to take part in such a pleasure as dancing.
I have begun by revealing the follies of my childhood: the reader need not be uneasy, for I am not going to hide those of my youth; I will be more courageous than Rousseau, who only confessed his vices.
As I conducted my partner back to her seat, I reaped the fruits of my triumph.
"Do you know, you dance very well," my Parisian said to me; "where did you learn?"