His eyes sought only one; he soon saw her, in the white and silver mask-dress, with the spray of carmine-hued eastern flowers, by which he had been told, days ago, to recognize her.
A crowd of dominoes were about her, some masked, some not.

Her eyes glanced through the envious disguise, and her lips were laughing.

He approached her with all his old tact in the art d'arborer le cotillon; not hurriedly, so as to attract notice, but carefully, so as to glide into a place near her.
"You promised me this waltz," he said very gently in her ear.

"I have come in time for it." She recognized him by his voice, and turned from a French prince to rebuke him for his truancy, with gay raillery and much anger.
"Forgive me, and let me have this one waltz--please do!" She glanced at him a moment, and let him lead her out.
"No one has my step as you have it, Bertie," she murmured, as they glided into the measure of the dance.
She thought his glance fell sadly on her as he smiled.
"No ?--but others will soon learn it." Yet he had never treaded more deftly the maze of the waltzers, never trodden more softly, more swiftly, or with more science, the polished floor.

The waltz was perfect; she did not know it was also a farewell.
The delicate perfume of her floating dress, the gleam of the scarlet flower-spray, the flash of the diamonds studding her domino, the fragrance of her lips as they breathed so near his own; they haunted him many a long year afterward.
His voice was very calm, his smile was very gentle, his step, as he swung easily through the intricacies of the circle, was none the less smooth and sure for the race that had so late strained his sinews to bursting; the woman he loved saw no change in him; but as the waltz drew to its end, she felt his heart beat louder and quicker on her own; she felt his hand hold her own more closely, she felt his head drooped over her till his lips almost touched her brow;--it was his last embrace; no other could be given here, in the multitude of these courtly crowds.