“At midnight?” said Cristiano, looking at the clock. “The poor devil is asleep. I believe the Countess Margaret had a more important plan to suggest to the company.”
“Yes, indeed,” cried Margaret. “I want to propose a little ball, all to ourselves. I am a new comer here—a perfect savage, I confess; you have only met me within these two or three days; but every one has been so kind and good to me, that I am not afraid to confess—what M. Goefle will be so good as to tell you—”
“This is it,” said Cristiano. “The Countess Margaret, as she herself just told you, is a perfect savage. She knows nothing in the world, not even how to dance; she is as awkward as possible, and limps at least as much as our illustrious master Stangstadius. Besides, she is clumsy, absent-minded, short-sighted. In fact, it would require a most Christian dose of charity to reconcile one’s self to the idea of dancing with her; for—”
“Enough! enough!” cried Margaret, laughing. “You have done me the honor to describe me with a great deal of humility. Please to accept my thanks, however; for they will all expect something so frightful now, that if I succeed only tolerably well everybody will be enchanted with me. The end of the matter is that I wish to make my first appearance before this small party; and that—if you all say so—we will go and dance in the gallery. The music in the grand saloon will be abundantly loud enough for us to dance by.”
Several of the young men hastened towards Margaret, to ask for her hand. She thanked them, but said that M. Christian Goefle had already devoted himself to be the victim.
“It is quite true, gentlemen,” said Cristiano, gayly, as his gloved hand received the little hand of Margaret; “all please to pity me, and so lead on to the torture.”
Places were taken in an instant, and the quadrille was formed. Margaret begged not to be one of the first four.
“You are curiously agitated,” said Cristiano to her.
“I am,” she replied; “my heart beats as if I were a bird launched out of the nest for the first time, and not quite sure that it has wings at all.”
“The first quadrille,” remarked the adventurer, “is, I see, an important event in the life of a young lady. In a year from now, when you have attended a hundred balls or so, do you suppose you will remember at all the name and face of the humble individual who enjoys the happiness and glory of directing your first dance?”