M.Raoul-- himself no mean performer--tasted, after his first surprise, something of the joy of discovery.

Who could have guessed that this quiet spinster, who, as a rule, held herself and walked so awkwardly, would prove the best partner in the room?
He had not the least doubt of it.
Others danced with more abandonment, with more exuberant vigour-- "romped" was his criticism--but none with such _elan_ perfectly restrained, covering precision with grace.

Hands across, cast off and wheel; as their fingers met again he felt the tense nerves, the throb of the pulse beneath the glove.

Her lips were parted, her eyes and whole face animated.

She was not thinking of him, or of anyone; only of the swing and beat of the music, the sway of life and colour, her own body swaying to it, enslaved to the moment and answering no other call.
"I understand why they call it the Triumph," he murmured, as he led her back to her seat.