Truyn was not present; the cold his little girl had caught at St. Peter's had developed into a serious illness, and he could not leave her.
Zinka, with her gliding grace, her small head held a little high, and her softened glance, was still pretty to watch as she danced, and attracted general attention. The music, the splendor of the entertainment, the consciousness of looking well put her into unwonted spirits. She sent a searching glance round the room--no, he was not there. Sterzl stood talking with the general, delighted with her little triumph and charming appearance; then he was congratulated by several men of distinction on his recent promotion. He thanked them with characteristic simplicity and sincerity--the evening was a success for him too. Not long after midnight he left to attend to pressing business--matters were in a very unsettled state--and went to the embassy.
Within a short time Sempaly came in. He had spent the previous night, as was very generally known, at cards--this was a new form of dissipation for him--he had lost a great deal of money, and he looked worn and out of spirits. He did not care for dancing and came so late to ask his handsome cousins for the cotillon that they were both engaged--a result to which he was so manifestly indifferent that Nini actually wiped away a secret tear. He was now standing with his fingers in his waistcoat pockets and his glass in his eye, exchanging impertinent comments with a number of other young men, on the figure of this woman or that girl, and trying to imagine himself in the position of the fabulous savage who found himself for the first time in a civilized ball-room.
Suddenly he was silent--something had arrested his attention.
The band was playing a waltz at that time very popular: "Stringi mi," by Tosti. The room was very hot; it was the moment when the curls of the young ladies begin to straighten, and their movements--at first a little prim--begin to gain in freedom; when there is an electrical tension in the air suggestive of possible storms and the most indifferent looker-on is aware of an obscure excitement. Crespigny and Zinka spun past him--Zinka pale and cool in the midst of the emotional stir around her. She was not living in the present--she was in a dream. Suddenly Crespigny, who was not a good dancer, stumbled against another couple, caught his foot in a lady's train and fell with his partner. Sempaly pushed his way through the dancers with blind force and was the first to help Zinka to her feet. Without thinking for a moment of the hundred eyes that were fixed upon him he leaned over the young girl--her power over him had risen from the dead. She, bewildered by her fall, did not perhaps at first see who it was that had helped her to rise; she clung to his arm with half-shut eyes; then, as he whispered a few sympathizing words, she looked up, started, colored, and shrank from him.
"A very unpleasant accident," said some of the ladies.
Sempaly had taken possession of Zinka's slender hand and drew it with gentle insistence through his arm; then he led her out of the heated ball-room into the adjoining gallery.
The accident for which she had besieged Heaven with prayers had happened--the accident which threw him once more in her way. His old passion was awake again; she saw it--she could read it in his eyes. She summoned up all her self-command to conceal her happiness--not so much out of deliberate calculation as from genuine timidity and womanly pride. He talked--saying all sorts of eager, sympathetic things--she asked only the coldest and simplest questions. He had fetched her a wrap and with the white shawl thrown around her he led her from one room to another among the fan-palms and creamy yellow statues. Now and then she spoke to some acquaintance whom they met wandering like themselves, but these were fewer and fewer. The supper-room was thrown open and every one was gone to the buffet.
Zinka's coldness, for which he was not at all prepared, provoked Sempaly greatly. He felt with sudden conviction that there could be no joy on earth to compare with that of once holding her in his arms and kissing her--devouring her with kisses. This image took entire possession of him and beyond the possible fulfilment of that dream he did not look. That joy must be his at any cost, if the whole world were to crumble at his feet.