“That is a poor compliment, since you take me for an actress,” laughed the lady. An hilarious outburst from an ill-assorted cluster of maskers behind them drowned his reply, and the lady and her attendants passed on.
Saint-Prosper drew his breath sharply. “She is here, after all,” he said to himself.
“A nostrum for jilted beaux!” called out a mountebank, seeing him standing there, preoccupied, alone, 482 at the same time tendering a pill as large as a plum. A punchinello jarred against him with: “Pardonnez moi, pardie!” On the perfumed air the music swelled rapturously; a waltz, warm with the national life of Vienna; the swan song of Lanner! Softly, sweetly, breathed “Die Schönbrunner;” faster whirled the moving forms. Eyes flashed more brightly; little feet seemed born for dancing; cheeks, pale at midday, were flushed with excitement! Why doesn’t he dance, wondered the lady with the white lamb. Carnival comes but once a year; a mad, merry time; when gaiety should sweep all cares out of doors!
|
“Said Strephon to Chloe: ‘For a kiss, I’ll give thee the choice of my flock.’ Said Chloe to Strephon: ‘What bliss, If you’ll add to the gift a new smock,’” |
hummed the lively nymph, as she tripped by.
|
“Said Chloe to Strephon: ‘For a kiss, I’ll return thee the choice of your flock. Said Strephon to Chloe: ‘What bliss, With it I’ll buy Phyllis a new frock,’” |
she concluded, throwing a glance over her shoulder.
A sudden distaste for the festal ferment, the laughter and merriment; a desire to escape from the very exuberance of high spirits and cheer led the soldier to make his way slowly from the ball-room to the balcony, where, although not removed from the echoes of liveliness within, he looked out upon the quietude of the night. Overhead stretched the sky, a measureless 483 ocean, with here and there a silvery star like the light on a distant ship; an unfathomable sea of ether that beat down upon him. Radiant and serene, in the boundless calm of the heavens, the splendent lanterns seemed suspended on stationary craft peacefully rocked at anchor. Longings, suppressed through months of absence, once more found full sway; Susan’s words were recalled by the presence of the count.
Suddenly the song of “Die Schönbrunner” ceased within, and, as its pulsations became hushed, many of the dancers, an elate, buoyant throng, sought the balcony. Standing in the shadow near the entrance, aroused from a train of reflections by this abrupt exodus, the soldier saw among the other merry-makers, Constance and the count, who passed through the door, so near he could almost have touched her.
“Here she is,” said the count, as they approached an elderly lady, seated near the edge of the balcony. “Ah, Madam,” he continued to the latter, “if you would only use your good offices in my behalf! Miss Carew is cruelty itself.”