In those days the contre-danse had not hardened itself into the quadrille. It was danced, not in fours, but in sets of varying numbers, and of characters and figures mostly undefined.
In one of the great halls, recently erected by the Emperor-architect, Charles VI., in a different taste from the older rooms, with marble floors and ceiling, and lined with mirrors, a very large set, composed of guests of the highest rank, was being watched by no inconsiderable number of their companions.
It is difficult to conceive a more magnificent or fascinating sight, reflected and multiplied as it was by the mirrors on the walls.
The Princess von Isenberg-Wertheim was dancing with a young noble, a prince of the House of Colleredo, a very handsome, but gay and reckless, young man. The dance was drawing to a close, the musicians, playing one of the last figures, La Pastorelle, to a very delicate and fine movement, to which the dancers were devoting their utmost, closest attention and skill.
As the Princess was standing by her partner, awaiting their turn to go down the dance, a slight movement caused her to turn her head, and she found the Count, her friend, standing close to her.
"I am sorry to interrupt, Princess," he said, in a low voice, "but I fear something serious has happened to the Prince. He cannot be found."
The Princess turned very pale. She caught her breath for a moment, then she said, in the same tone, "Where is Karl, the Jager?"
"I do not know," replied the Count. "I never thought of him."
"Then he is not here," said the Princess, with a relieved air. "If Karl is with him the Prince is safe."
The Count made a very slight movement of his shoulders, but the Princess turned serenely to the young man.