“Chassez—balancez! La grace! Madame la Marquise, la grace!” Then, as he passed me, he muttered with a voice guttural from anger, “Quel supplice!”
As I continued to gaze on the scene, I could not help being struck with the extreme diversity of look and expression; for while there were some faces on which iniquity had laid its indelible stamp, there were others singularly pleasing, and some actually beautiful. Among the men, the same character prevailed throughout,—a rude, coarse good-humor,—the sailor-type everywhere; but a few seemed persons of a higher class, and on these a life of vice and debauchery had produced the most marked change, and you could still see, amid the traces of nights of riot and abandonment, the remnant of finer features, the expression they had worn before their “fall.” If I was surprised at the good looks of many of the women, still more was I by a gracefuluess of carriage and an air of deportment that seemed as much out of place as they were unsuited to such companionship. One young fellow appeared to be a general favorite with the company. He was tall, well-made, and had that indescribably rakish character about his very gesture that is rarely a bad indication of the possessor's mode of life. I had no difficulty in learning his name, for every one called him by it at each instant, and “Fred Falkoner” was heard on all sides. It was he who selected the music for the dance; his partner, for the time being, was the belle of the room, and he lounged about supreme. Nor was his title a bad one,—he was the great entertainer of the whole assembly. The refreshments were almost entirely of his ordering, and the clink of his dollars might be heard keeping merry time with the strains of the violins. I watched him with some interest; I thought I could see that, in descending to such companionship, there was a secret combat between his self-respect and a strange passion for seeing life in low places, which, when added to the flattery such a man invariably obtains from his inferiors, is a dangerous and subtle temptation. The more I studied him, the stronger grew this conviction,—nay, at times, the expression of scorn upon his handsome features was legible even to the least remarking. It was while I still continued to watch him that he passed me, with a dark, Spanish-looking girl upon his arm, When he turned round suddenly, and, staring at me fixedly a few seconds, said, “We met once before, to-day.”
“I am not aware of it,” said I, doubtingly.
“Yes, yes. I never forget a face, least of all when it resembles yours. I saw you this morning at the 'Picayune.'”
“True, I was there.”
“What a precious set of rascals those fellows were! You supposed that they were going to join the expedition. Not a bit of it. Some were gamblers; the greater number thieves and pickpockets. I know them all; and, indeed, I was going to warn you about them, for I saw you were a stranger, but I lost sight of you in the crowd. But there's the music. Will you have a partner?”
“With all my heart,” said I, glad to encourage our further acquaintance.
“You speak Spanish?”
“Not a word.”
“Well, no matter. If you did, you should have mine here. But what say you to Mademoiselle Héloïse, yonder?—a bit faded or so; but I remember her second 'Ballarina' at the Havana, only two years back.”