“Well, I danced for the most part with her, and did not notice how time was passing. The musicians kept playing the same mazurka tunes over and over again in desperate exhaustion⁠—you know what it is towards the end of a ball. Papas and mammas were already getting up from the card-tables in the drawing-room in expectation of supper, the menservants were running to and fro bringing in things. It was nearly three o’clock. I had to make the most of the last minutes. I chose her again for the mazurka, and for the hundredth time we danced across the room.

“ ‘The quadrille after supper is mine,’ I said, taking her to her place.

“ ‘Of course, if I am not carried off home,’ she said, with a smile.

“ ‘I won’t give you up,’ I said.

“ ‘Give me my fan, anyhow,’ she answered.

“ ‘I am so sorry to part with it,’ I said, handing her a cheap white fan.