Through the gay tumult which rang ceaselessly around her, where she stood, plying her painted fan, her own laughter sounded at intervals, distinct in its refreshing purity, for it had always that crystalline quality under a caressing softness; but Duane, who had advanced now to the outer edge of the circle, detected in her voice no hint of that thrilling undertone which he had known, which he alone among men had ever awakened.  Her gaiety was careless, irresponsible, childlike in its clarity; under her crescent mask the smiles on her smooth young face dawned and died out, brief as sun-spots flashing over snow.  Briefer intervals of apparent detachment from everything succeeded them; a distrait survey of the lantern-lit dancers, a preoccupied glance at the man speaking to her, a lifting of the delicate eyebrows in smiling preoccupation.  But always behind the black half-mask her eyes wandered throughout the throng as though seeking something hidden; and on her vivid lips the smile became fixed.

Whether or not she had seen him, Duane could not tell, but presently, as he forced a path toward her, she stirred, closed her fan, took a step forward, head a trifle lowered; and right of way was given her, as she moved slowly through the cluster of men, shaking her head in vexation to the whispered importunities murmured in her ear, answering each according to his folly—­this man with a laugh, that with a gesture of hand or shoulder, but never turning to reply, never staying her feet until, passing close to Duane, and not even looking at him: 

“Where on earth have you been, Duane?”

“How did you know me?” he said, laughing; “you haven’t even looked at me yet.”

“On peut voir sans regarder, Monsieur.  Nous autres demoiselles, nous voyons tres bien, tres bien ... et nous ne regardons jamais.”

[Illustration:  “She dropped him a very low, very slow, very marvellous courtesy”]

She had paused, still not looking directly at him.  Then she lifted her head.

“Everybody has asked me to dance; I’ve said yes to everybody, but I’ve waited for you,” she said.  “It will be that way all my life, I think.”

“It has been that way with me, too,” he said gaily.  “Why should we wait any more?”

“Why are you so late?” she asked.  She had missed Rosalie, too, but did not say so.

“I am rather late,” he admitted carelessly; “can you give me this dance?”

She stepped nearer, turning her shoulder to the anxious lingerers, who involuntarily stepped back, leaving a cleared space around them.

“Make me your very best bow,” she whispered, “and take me.  I’ve promised a dozen men, but it doesn’t matter.”

He said in a low voice, “You darling!” and made her a very wonderful bow, and she dropped him a very low, very slow, very marvellous courtesy, and, rising, laid her fingers on his embroidered sleeve.  Then turning, head held erect, and with a certain sweet insolence in the droop of her white lids, she looked at the men around her.