At the very first chords an extraordinary commotion was observable among the young men near the doors, who were evidently suffering from lack of exercise. A few began to draw on their gloves hastily; others smoothed back their hair with their hands, and straightened their cravats. One asked, with constrained voice,—
"It's a mazurka, isn't it?"
"No, a waltz-polka."
"What! a waltz-polka?"
"Can't you tell by your ears?"
"Ah, yes. You're right. But then, señor, this wretched fellow at the piano will prevent me from dancing with Rosario this evening."
All seemed restless and nervous as though they were about to pass through the fire. The boldest crossed the drawing-room with rapid steps, and joined the young ladies, hiding their trepidation behind a supercilious smile. As soon as the señorita who had been invited stood up and took the proffered arm, they began to feel that they were masters of themselves. Others, less courageous, gave three or four long pulls to their cigars, puffing the smoke out toward the entry, and having keyed themselves up to the right pitch, slowly directed their steps to some young lady less fascinating than the others, receiving for their attention a smile full of tender promises. The more cowardly struggled a long while with their gloves, and finally had to ask some grave señor to fasten the buttons for them. When this operation was finished, and they were ready to dance, they discovered that there were no girls sitting down. Thereupon they resigned themselves to dance with some mamma.
One after another all the couples took the floor. Marta remained sitting. Two or three very complaisant and patronizing young fellows came to invite her, but she replied that she did not know how to dance. The real motive of her refusal was that her father did not like to have her take part in society while she was so young. She sat, therefore, attentively watching how the others went round. Her great black eyes rested with placid expression on each one of the couples who went up and down before her. Some interested her more than others, and she followed them with her glance. Their ways, their movements, and their looks were so different, that they made a curious study. A tall, lean youth was bending his back as near double as possible, so as to put his arm around the waist of a diminutive señorita who was endeavoring to keep on her very tip-toes. An elderly and portly lady was leaning languidly over a boy's shoulder, besmearing his coat with Matilde Díez's wax-white. Some, like Isidorito, did not succeed in steering, and frequently stepped on their partners, who soon declared that they were weary and asked to be excused. Others put down their heels with such force that they scratched the floor. Marta looked at these with considerable severity, like a true housewife. After a while the faces began to show signs of weariness, some becoming flushed, others pallid, according to the temperament of each. With mouths open, cheeks aglow, and brows bathed in perspiration, they gave evidence of no other expression than that of absolute stupidity. At first they smiled and even dropped from their lips a compliment or two; but very soon gallantries ceased, and the smile faded away; all ended by skipping about silent and solemn, as if some unseen hand were laying on the lash in order to make them do so. Marta from time to time shut her eyes, and thus she avoided the dizziness which began to attack her.
At last the piano suddenly ceased to sound. The couples, in virtue of the momentum which they had acquired, gave three or four hops unaccompanied by the music, and this made Marta smile. Before they took their seats the girls walked around the drawing-room for a few moments arm in arm with their partners, engaged in lively and interesting discourse. The pianist accepted the effusive thanks of the smart young man with the bangs. At length the ladies were all seated in their respective places, and the gentlemen fell back once again to the doors, mopping their brows with their handkerchiefs. Those who had danced with the beauties of the drawing-room showed faces shining with beatitude, and smilingly received the jests of their friends, while those who had pressed the less favored to their bosoms, praised to the skies their partners' Terpsichorean skill.
The youth with the hair over his forehead conceived the idea of Don Serapio singing a song, and he went from group to group around the room, making an instantaneous and satisfactory propaganda with his happy thought.