He came to himself with the realization that there were other guests on the stairway and he must lead his party on to the ballroom; Captain Dupont was there to do the honors. Presumably it was his meeting with Anne which had made him hypersensitive, but Peabody felt himself suddenly in sympathy with the people in the room, telepathically aware of the sensation their entrance caused. The five officers, with their rolling gaits and their mahogany complexions, close-cropped hair and plain dress — despite their epaulettes and gold — were like a breath of sea air entering a hot house. Round the room were many languid exquisites, many lovely and fragile women, and the men looked at the Americans with vague contempt, the women with awakening interest. Peabody was suddenly glad that his neckcloth was of plain pleatless silk, and that his sword hilt was mere cut steel, unjeweled and ungilded.
At one end of the long room there were wide-open double doors, through which could be seen a supper room glittering with silver; at the other end was a low dais on which a Negro orchestra was waiting. Captain Dupont had hardly begun to make presentations when the orchestra broke into a swinging, lively tune, and Peabody gaped a little as the dancers came on the floor. Each man took a woman in his arms, and each woman clasped her partner, perfectly shamelessly. The couples circled round the floor, each with a sort of wheel-like motion which reminded Peabody of the movement of the tiny water animalcules which he had observed as a boy in the stagnant water of summer pools; but it was not the motion which appeared so strange, as the coldblooded way in which the embraces were publicly performed, the women looking up into the men's eyes and talking as collectedly as if they had no sense of shame whatever, regardless of clasped hands, of arms round waists, of hands on shoulders, of bosom against breast, or very nearly.
"That's the waltz," said Hubbard between his teeth to Peabody. "I heard it was all the rage in Europe."
A languorous beauty in her late thirties to whom Peabody was being presented overheard the remark.
"Indeed it is," she said. "All the world dances it. All the world has met together in Paris now, I hear. Excepting for us poor souls, doomed to an eternity of boredom on this little island. Tell me, Captain, do you intend to give your young officers a day ashore? It will be a pleasure to me to do what I can to make their visit enjoyable. I can send horses for them down to the port — my estate is St. Barbara, six miles away from
town."
She flashed dark eyes from behind her fan at the circle of officers. "That is extremely kind of you, ma'am," said Peabody. "Unfortunately I have no knowledge — "
There was so much bustle in the hall at this moment that he was compelled to break off his speech and look round. The English officers were entering the hall, Davenant in the lead, the naval officers in the smart uniforms with the new white facings which Peabody had heard about and never seen before, the two Marine officers in red coats and high-polished boots.
"You mean," said the languorous beauty, "that you do not know when you are going to fight those gentlemen there. Well, it's in poor taste, now that the rest of the world is at peace. You should be ashamed to deprive us of the society of your charming Americans — it is years since we set eyes on one. We are accustomed to Englishmen, after the long English rule here. The sight of a redcoat no longer rouses a thrill in our blase hearts, Captain. But you Americans — "
"Yes, of course, ma'am," said Peabody, as she obviously awaited some kind of answer, but there must have been a fount of hidden humor in the trite words, for the lady said "La!" and flashed her fan again.
Peabody's eyes met Davenant's across the room. There was a moment's hesitation on the part of both parties of officers, and then they bowed to each other formally, the juniors copying the example of the seniors, and Peabody was glad to see that the gesture was performed just as badly by the English lieutenants as by his own, and that their gait was just as rolling and unfitted for a ballroom. Even Davenant, with his high fashionable neckcloth, and his red ribbon, and his star, was obviously someone straight off a quarter-deck.
Here came Dupont, very preoccupied.
"Captain Peabody, your commission as captain is a recent one, I fancy?"
"I have two years' seniority, sir."
"Captain Davenant is the senior, then, his commission dating back eighteen years. Then he will dance the cotillion with Madame la Comtesse d'Ernee, and you, sir, will stand up with Mademoiselle de Villebois."
"Mamselle de — ?" asked Peabody, and was promptly annoyed with himself. Even if he could not pronounce Anne's name he ought to have recognized it instantly. To cover his confusion he fell back on formality. "Of course I shall be delighted, sir."
This was a serious moment. Not more than six times in his life had Peabody attended a ball, although in view of the occasional professional necessity of doing so he had studied the conventions of dancing seriously enough, resolutely putting aside the nagging of his conscience on the matter. But this was something he had to go through, something unavoidable and inevitable; it was therefore no moment for doubt. The Marquis and Anne and the Countess were already entering the room, and Peabody braced himself, made a final adjustment of his cuffs, and strode over. He managed his bow, but, try as he would, to his great surprise the formal request for the pleasure of the cotillion was a mere mumbled jumble of words. Anne smiled and curtseyed.
"I shall be delighted, Captain Peabody."
In something like a dream he offered his arm, and she rested her hand on it. Walking in that fashion was a new experience. There was no sensation of weight; in fact it was quite the reverse. His arm felt all the lighter for the touch, as though a Montgolfier balloon were tied to it. She glided along beside him as weightless as a feather. Peabody had a feeling which reminded him of those few occasions when drink had exhilarated him without stupefying. In front of him Davenant was speaking to the Countess.
"I fear I don't know the drill, ma'am," he was saying. "As a matter of fact I'm damned awkward in a ballroom."
"Never mind about that," said the Countess. "Charles will lead. All we have to do is to follow."
That was doubly comforting: both to know that Davenant was nervous, and that the Marquis would carry the responsibility; the Marquis was already leading out the languorous beauty of St. Barbara, and the lines were falling in behind them. Peabody had recovered sufficiently to dart a quick glance round and to see that each of his officers was leading a lady into the dance. The band played a warning chord, and he turned to his partner and took her hand in his.
For Peabody that was his last clear recollection. The rest of the dance was just a divine madness. He was drunk with music and with the proximity of Anne. Awkwardness and the restraints of conscience vanished simultaneously. He bowed and scraped, he capered when the necessity arose, he strode with dignity; while sheer instinct — it could have been nothing else — saved him from allowing his sword to trip his partner or himself. The Marquis and his lady certainly knew how to lead a cotillion, and the orchestra did its part to perfection. A perfect wave of lightheartedness flooded the ballroom, everyone presumably infected by the gaiety of the Marquis. Everyone was smiling and laughing, even the elderly chaperones against the wall. Peabody's mind was a whirl of tumultuous impressions, of pearls and black curls, of white teeth between red lips when Anne smiled, of blue eyes and black lashes. When the dance ended he had an impression of awakening from some innocent and delightful dream, dreamed in a feather bed of unbelievable comfort. Yet his head was singularly clear.