Now I had learned the waltz at home in Philadelphia, but it had never been danced at the St. Louis parties, and I knew not whether mademoiselle knew the step or not. Yet was I seized with a great desire to follow Yorke's example.
"Mademoiselle," I said timidly, "why cannot we have a dance here? See, there is a clear space on the deck, and the music is good."
"I waltz but poorly, Monsieur," she answered, looking up at me with a bright blush. "Madame Saugrain taught me the step, but I have practised it but little."
"Then we will be the better matched," I answered gaily. But when I had put my arm around her waist, and one of her beautiful hands rested on my shoulder, and I held the other in my firm clasp, I was seized with such trembling at my boldness in daring to hold her so near that almost my feet refused to move. Yet as soon as we were both gliding to the Canadian's music there was no longer any fear in my heart, only a great longing that the music might never cease and that we could go on forever circling to its strains. Wild thoughts whirled in my brain. Why need mademoiselle go back to Paris? I believed, as I bent my head and looked into her dark eyes uplifted to mine, that only a little persuasion would be needed to make her give it all up. And I said to myself, "I will try."
But the music stopped. Mademoiselle gently withdrew herself from my encircling arm, and suddenly cold reason returned. How could I dream of betraying Dr. Saugrain's trust! How could I think of persuading her to relinquish the glories awaiting her for me! And, most of all, how could I dare to think she could be persuaded!
Mademoiselle had thrown off her capote before beginning to dance; I picked it up and put it around her, and led her back to her seat on the pelts. But she would not sit down.
"No, Monsieur," she said; "our evening is over. I am going to my cabin. Will you send for Clotilde and tell her that I want her?"
"Mademoiselle! Mademoiselle!" I cried, my heart in my mouth to beg her not to leave me without one word of hope. But then I stopped. It was all over; the world had come to an end.
"It is good-by, then, Mademoiselle?" I said steadily, and holding out my hand to her.
"No, Monsieur," she said, with that voice that from the first time I heard it had ever seemed to me the sweetest in the world. "'Tis au revoir—toujours, toujours au revoir!"