The brawl, meanwhile, had commenced, and the dancers were whirling round giddily in every direction, somewhat like the couples in a grand polka, danced after a very boisterous, romping, and extravagant fashion.
"Who is Nicholas dancing with?" asked Mistress Nutter suddenly.
"Is he dancing with any one?" rejoined Richard, looking amidst the crowd.
"Do you not see her?" said Mistress Nutter; "a very beautiful woman with flashing eyes: they move so quickly, that I can scarce discern her features; but she is habited like a nun."
"Like a nun!" cried Richard, his blood growing chill in his veins. "'Tis she indeed, then! Where is he?"
"Yonder, yonder, whirling madly round," replied Mistress Nutter.
"I see him now," said Richard, "but he is alone. He has lost his wits to dance in that strange manner by himself. How wild, too, is his gaze!"
"I tell you he is dancing with a very beautiful woman in the habit of a nun," said Mistress Nutter. "Strange I should never have remarked her before. No one in the room is to be compared with her in loveliness—not even Alizon. Her eyes seem to flash fire, and she bounds like the wild roe."
"Does she resemble the portrait of Isole de Heton?" asked Richard, shuddering.
"She does—she does," replied Mistress Nutter. "See! she whirls past us now."