"Poetry—and yours! How can you doubt its effect?"
"I do not doubt. Are you not by my side?" I whispered.
He drew my hand under his loose sleeve, and pressed it tenderly—so tenderly, that I did not know when the handkerchief it held escaped from my grasp to his; but, directly after, I saw him thrust something white into his bosom. It was my very best handkerchief, embroidered with my name; but I said nothing—how could I?
We walked on. The crowd swarmed and hummed like bees in a clover-field. Now and then a great gray eagle flapped by, or a bear prowled along; but, after all, it was a clumsy make-believe, and didn't scare anybody much.
By and by a lady came along dressed just like me—yellow and black all over. She stared at me, and I stared at her—just my height—just my air—modest, but queenly. There was a trifling difference—she wore a bunch of red roses on her bosom.
After staring at me awhile, she drew softly round to the other side, and it seemed as if she was saying something to him. I can't tell you what happened next; for just then four great big gilt candlesticks walked into the middle of the room, and began to dance, in a way that fairly took me off my feet. It really was too funny. The style in which they hopped up and down, crossed over, and stalked about, was enough to make a priest laugh.
"Isn't it awful queer!" says I, a-turning to the man who had come so far to tell me of his love.
He was gone. I stood there alone in the crowd, my limbs shook, my heart sunk like lead. How had I lost him?
Wild with a sense of widowhood, I wandered to and fro over that ball-room. Many people spoke to me; some gentlemen in disguise wanted to walk with me; but I evaded them all. Some I answered; to some I gave nothing but sighs. At last I felt tears stealing down under my mask, my strength gave way, I sat down on a cushioned bench in a fit of despondency. The cup of bliss had sparkled at my lips, and been dashed aside.
What did I care for the men and women who were whirling, talking, and dancing around me!