The white cambric stock and the frill in
his shirt were the only gay touches. It was not his fault: the rules of
the service compelled him thus to dress. But he needed no brass or cloth
of gold. There was not a male head among all the others to compare with
his.
He was an accomplished waltzer, after the manner of that day, when one
went round and round like some mechanical toy wound up. Strauss and
Waldteufel tingled his feet; and he whirled ambassadors' wives till they
were breathless and ambassadors' daughters till they no longer knew or
cared where they were. He was full of subtle deviltry this night, with
an undercurrent of malice toward every one and himself in particular.
This would be the last affair of the kind for him, and he wanted a full
memory of it. Between times he exchanged a jest or two with the
chancellor or talked battles with old Ducwitz; twice he caught the grand
duke's eye, but there was only a friendly nod from that august
personage, no invitation to talk. Thrice, while on the floor, her
highness passed him; but there was never a smile, never a glance. He
became careless and reckless. He would seek her and talk to her and
smile at her even if the duke threw a regiment in between. The Irish
blood in him burned to-night, capable of any folly.
Pages:
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221