Beatrice was the radiant queen of this fair festival; and it was strange
to think, that from the presence of such a being so many men were going
to part without one lover's pang. Amiable, affable, natural, and full of
grace, she presided over this little court of love--serene, unmoved,
herself. Yet any thoughtful and suspicious observer would have said,
that her heart was not quite at ease; for every now and then, as the
night wore on, her eyes gave less attention to those who spoke with her,
and her thoughts were evidently turning inwards with trouble. The supper
was over--the tastefully decorated table was deserted--and the guests
were again assembled in the ball-room. Fond partners that might never
dance with each other again, stood side by side--hand locked in
hand--and waited for the rising swell of the tender music, to which they
were to dance their last waltz. Beatrice stood up with her cousin Count
Zichy, and deadly pale she looked. The Count and all others thought she
had a headach, and would have had her sit down; but she persisted, with
a faint smile, in doing the last honours.
Just at this very moment a manly young officer, whose dress denoted that
he had been on duty, and was ready again to mount and go forward, came
in to make a report to the colonel.
As the first bars of the music were heard, he stood aside, his cap in
his hand, and looked on. Already, however, a young brother officer had
run from his partner's side, to renew to him, with all extravagance of
gratitude, his thanks for having, by an exchange of duty, enabled him to
enjoy a last, long parting with the girl he loved.
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