"Well, amuse yourself with looking at them, Monsieur," returned Rose pettishly. "As for me, I came to dance," and Pallent whisked her off.
Martin's eyes followed them, other eyes as well.
Pierre threw his streamer with a sleight of hand one would hardly have looked for, and caught it again amid the cheers of his companions. Round they went, only once losing their place in the whole circle. The violins flew faster, the dancing grew almost furious, eyes sparkled and cheeks bloomed.
"I am tired," Jeanne said, and lagging she half drew Pierre out of the circle.
"Tired! I could dance forever with you."
"But you must not. See how the mothers are watching you for a chance, and the girls will be proud enough to have you ask them."
"I am not going to;" shrugging his square shoulders.
"Oh, yes, you are!" with a pretty air of authority.
Jeanne saw envious eyes wandering in her direction. She did not know how she outshone most of the girls, with an air that was so different from the ordinary. Her white cotton gown had a strip of bright, curiously worked embroidery above the hem and around the square neck that gave her exquisite throat full play. The sleeves came to the elbow, and both hands and arms were beautiful. Her skin was many shades fairer, her cheeks like the heart of a rose, and her mouth dimpled in the corners. Her lithe figure had none of the squareness of the ordinary habitan, and every movement was grace itself.
"If you will not dance, let us walk, then. I have so much to say—"