"And where did your ladyship think of going on such a night?"
(I winked at her: "Don't tell him.")
"We were going to Arad, to the Casino ball."
("Adieu all our jewels," I thought.)
"Oh, then you have come here just at the nick of time. Your ladyship need not go a step further, for we are giving a ball here, if you do not despise our invitation. We have very good gipsy musicians—the Szalenta band, you know. They can play splendid csárdáses."
The rascal didn't stand on ceremony in the least, but no sooner did they begin dashing off the csárdás, than he threw his buttoned dolman half over his shoulder, and seizing the Countess round the waist, twirled her off amidst the lot of them.
Another fellow immediately hastened up to Mademoiselle Cesarine, and ravished her away in a half-fainting condition; but she had no need to think of herself, for she was passed from one hand to another so that her feet never touched the ground.
As for my Countess, she excelled herself. She danced with as much fire and vivacity as if she were sweeping over the waxed floor of the assembly rooms at Arad. Never have I seen her so amiable, so charming, as she was at that moment. I have seen Hungarian dances at other times, and have always been struck by their quaintness, but nobody ever showed me how much there was really in them as that good-for-nothing rascal showed me then.
First of all he paced majestically round with his partner, as if this were the proudest moment of his life, gazing haughtily down upon her from over his shoulder; then he would shout down the music when at its loudest—and it was pretty loud too—and emerge from the midst of the throng after his partner, she all the time swaying modestly backwards and forwards before him, like a butterfly which touches every flower but lights on none; and, indeed, I am only speaking the truth when I say that her feet never seemed to touch the earth. The fellow, foppishly enough, would keep bending towards her as if he were about to embrace her on the spot, and then would stop short, stamping with one foot and flinging back his head haughtily, alluring the enchanting little fairy hither and thither after him. Sometimes he would rush right up to her as if about to cast himself upon her bosom, and then, with a sudden twirl, would be far away from her again, and only the glances of their eyes showed that they were partners. Presently, as if in high dudgeon, he would turn away from his partner, plant himself right in front of the gipsy musicians, and prance furiously up and down before them, and after thus dancing away his anger, suddenly patter back to the Countess, and seize and whirl her round and round as if he were a hurricane and she a leaping flame.
During this spacious pastime I was constantly agonized by the thought that perhaps this mad rogue in his excitement might permit himself some unbecoming demonstration towards the Countess. The temptation you know was great. The Countess was entirely in his power, the fellow was a gallows-bird, with the noose half round his neck already; an extra misdeed or two, more or less, could do him no further harm. I was firmly resolved that if he insulted the Countess by the least familiarity, I would make a rush for the piled-up muskets, seize one of them, and shoot the villainous trifler dead. I affirm on my honour that this I was firmly resolved to do.