Ilse whispered, leaning near: “Don’t take any more champagne, Palla.”
The girl frowned, then looked serious: “No, I won’t,” she said naïvely. “But it is wonderful how eloquent it makes one feel, isn’t it?”
And to Estridge: “You know that this is quite the first wine I have ever tasted––except at Communion. I was brought up to think it meant destruction. And afterward, wherever I travelled to study, the old prejudice continued to guide me. And after that, even when I began to think of taking the veil, I made abstinence one of my first preliminary vows.... And look what I’ve been doing to-night!”
She held up her glass, tasted it, emptied it.
“There,” she said, “I desired to shock you. I don’t really want any more. Shall we dance? Ilse! Why don’t you seize Mr. Brisson and make him two-step?”
“Please seize me,” added Brisson gravely.
Ilse rose, big, fresh, smilingly inviting; Brisson inspected her seriously––he was only half as tall––then he politely encircled her waist and led her out.
They danced as though they could not get enough of it––exhilaration due to reaction from the long strain during dangerous days.
It was already morning, but they danced on. Palla’s delicate intoxication passed––returned––passed––hovered like a rosy light in her brain, but faded always as she danced.