Thirty or forty couples whirled round to the tune of the "Boston" waltz, and the slender feet of the American girls, shod in satin and transparent stockings, appeared and disappeared amid the flowing lace petticoats, while their partners and their flirts smiled at them in manifest pleasure that nothing could conceal. Amidst the somewhat baptismal cambric dresses, with their heavenly bows, pink and yellow, of the three English sisters, Evelyn, Rosamond, and Ellen Forbes, passed Miss Katherine Breadley, the American in the Empire gown, so disturbing in its too audacious lines and so seductive, as well, on the arm of her French flirt, the Comte de Roy, the youth of a great princely house, whom she smilingly called Monseigneur. By the Misses Atwel, the little English girls dressed in white, on whose heads were withering wreaths of myosotis, passed in dancing Miss Betty Finch, the enchanting modern Grecian of Fifth Avenue, in crêpe de Chine, smiling at the Vicomte de Lynen, her Belgian flirt and partner. There crossed the room without dancing, but with the authority of un vieux garçon who has toured the world and known the whole of society, Miss Ellis Robinson, accompanied step for step by her Italian flirt, Don Carlo Torriani, who has sworn to make her renounce celibacy; and the enormous solitaires of the American woman shone in curious contrast with the little gold crosses of the English girls. But in Britannic form, in American, in European, in every form, only flirtation governed and dominated, enveloped and transformed, that dance at the "Kulm" on that summer evening. Lia Norescu, the exquisite creature in her blue dress, the flower of beauty, surrounded by her court, having found other courtiers there, passed from one to another, dancing like a sylph on the meadows almost without touching ground, with her light feet shod in pale blue. She danced in the middle of the room, the better to be seen, the better to be admired, and intoxicated her cavaliers with her smile, one after the other of whom she dismissed but who returned to her subdued, and whom she took back in a most capricious game of flirtation. The Comtesse de Brialmont, as she danced with the Count of Seville, a Spaniard, who was said to be the nephew of an ex-queen, a morganatic nephew, whom she had seized from a friend of hers, bit her lips as she almost dragged her partner along in the "Boston." Suddenly even Eva Delma, enormous, like a great Caryatid, sallied forth to dance with a graceful youth whom she devoured with her eyes. English flirts, American flirts, European flirts, caprice, light love, love, passion, fair heads and brown heads, chaste gowns and audacious gowns, hands interlaced and shoulders too near, tender smiles and intoxicating glances, beauty of innocence and conscious beauty—how everything exhaled, emanated, and spread in the air, penetrating senses and hearts that night in the ball at the "Kulm"! Suddenly a couple appeared in the middle of the room, and a large circle was reverently made. They were Mrs. and Mr. Arnold, both seventy, who had been married for forty years. She, with her completely white hair and rosy face, was most attractive; he was less white, but more robust and red in the face. For forty years these two people had never left each other, and they had come to St. Moritz from time immemorial. They had been guests at the "Kulm" ever since its foundation. Every year they suddenly sallied forth to dance, she composed and serene, he elegant in his strength. And Mr. and Mrs. Arnold, in their flirtation of ten lustres, seemed to be the symbol of all the flirtation of which air, light, flowers, women and men were formed and transformed that night of the ball at the "Kulm." Smiles and discreet English applause greeted the couple; the Americans, laughing, applauded more loudly, but few of the other nations did so. And around the two almost a hundred couples began to dance, amongst whom were Lilian Temple and Lucio Sabini.
Lilian danced well, but with some stiffness, as if through reserve she were unwilling to yield herself to the too brilliant tunes to which the dancing couples whirled ever more gaily, as if unwilling to yield to the too soft harmonies that seemed to strike with an almost amorous languor those who were dancing. Erect like a light stalk, hardly supported at the waist by Lucio's arm, Lilian Temple turned her head a little on one side, as if unwilling to meet her partner's gaze. Lucio Sabini danced to perfection, with that sense of musical rhythm which belongs to all Italians, and with a virile grace that emanated from every act of his; and he fixed his eyes on his lady's face, while he impressed on her, with an arm that scarcely guided her, a rapid or a softer movement. At first surprised and then annoyed to find her without response, and without a tremor, in a dance that he rendered ever more enticing, amongst the crowd of women and men who were nearly all transported, not only by the enjoyment of the dance, but by a more intimate and more secret joy, he suddenly said to her in the rather rough voice of his moments of ardour, which always appeared in contrast to his feelings:
"Does dancing bore you, Miss Temple?"
"No, Signor," she murmured smilingly, "on the contrary, I am very fond of it."
"Then you don't care about dancing with me?" he suggested, even more roughly.
"Why do you think that?" she asked, blushing a little, lowering her eyes, with a veil of sadness in her voice.
"I don't know," he replied vaguely, "I don't know; I thought so."
They turned more quickly; he raised her as if he wished to make her fly, and she, even more lightly, scarcely seemed to touch the ground; a fine smile parted her rosy lips, trembling a little at having to dance so fast, and for an instant her deep blue eyes, pure and tender, fixed themselves on the brown, thoughtful eyes of Lucio Sabini. It was only a fleeting smile, the glance of an instant, but, disturbed and moved, he asked her:
"Do you like dancing with me?"