"It was for you!" she whispered, her voice growing softer and lower. "It was for you I danced. Did you not feel it?"
Her arms stole toward him. The unnatural calm with which she had finished her dance seemed suddenly to pass. Her bosom was rising and falling more quickly. There was a faint spot of color in her cheek.
"It was wonderful," he told her. "I will get you the champagne."
Her lips were parted. She smiled up at him.
"Go quickly," she whispered, "and come back quickly! I wait for you."
He left the room and passed out again into the picture-gallery before he had the least idea where he was. The band was playing a waltz, and one or two couples were dancing. The people seemed suddenly to have become like puppets in some strange, unreal dream. He felt an almost feverish longing for the open air, for a long draft of the fresh sweetness of the night, far away from this overheated atmosphere charged with unnamable things.
As he passed through the farther doorway he came face to face with the prince.
"Where are you going?" the latter asked.
"Mme. Calavera has asked me to get her some champagne," he answered.
The prince smiled.