These Germans, male and female, waltzed with that grave, concentrated resolution that characterizes them. Spurs clinked merrily, and the beautiful imperial colours mingled under the lights into one fascinating kaleidoscope.
"Monsieur Vignerte, you are not dancing!"
"It is only because I'm such a poor performer, Fräulein. Besides, a black coat cuts a poor figure among all these uniforms."
"That's no reason," replied Melusine. "Why, there's good Frau von Wendel who will go very well with your clothes. You must ask her."
"If I must dance, I should prefer it to be with you."
"I'm afraid I haven't time. My business is to wander round and look after the wallflowers and more bashful dancers. Let me take your arm. You can accompany me."
A pretty woman on my arm gave me the confidence I lacked.
"Fräulein von Graffenfried! Monsieur Vignerte!" The voice of Marçais.
The last word in elegance, he was sitting near the Grand Duchess. Great Heavens! He beckoned to me to go up.
"Can't we ever get hold of you?" he said, laughing. "Here, monsieur."