"I see nothing," said the man, who still held her in the clasp of his arm.
"He is strangely dressed, although I see him indistinctly, vaguely," whispered the woman. "He wears a long white robe and there is a kind of light about his face. See, he is looking at us."
"I see nothing," repeated the man in low tones. "The heat, the light, the music, have disturbed you; let me get you—"
"I want nothing," interposed the woman, waving the man aside and drawing away from his arm. "Don't you see him, there?"
She made a step toward the center of the room. She stopped, put her hand to her head.
"Why, he is gone," she exclaimed.
"Good," said the man, while at that instant the room suddenly rang with cries: "Go on with the music, the dance is not half over." He extended his arm to the woman again. "Our dance is not finished."
"Yes, it is," she said as the flying feet once more twinkled across the polished floor, as everybody took a long breath and a new start apparently unconscious of the pause.
"It is over for me. What I saw!"
"What did you see?"