reply, shaking out quivering breaths to the summer
night air, until it seems some weird, far-away world. Violet is so
entranced that she almost forgets she is Floyd Grandon's wife, being
made known to society.

The first quadrilles are full of lovely gliding figures. Violet dances
with her husband, then with Eugene. Floyd and Madame Lepelletier are in
the same set. It is the first time he has danced with her since they
were betrothed. She knows if she had stayed at home and married him,
neither would have been the kind of people they are now, and she does
not envy that old time, but she wants the power in her hands that she
had then. She would not even care to give up all the years of adulation
when rank and title were an open-sesame to golden doors, and even now
has its prestige. There is nothing she really cares for but the love of
this man, little as she believes in the divine power.

The _fete_ is really open now. Guests stroll about and listen to the
music, or sit on the balcony chairs and watch the dancing. By and by
there are some soft melodious waves with no especial meaning, then the
French horns pipe a delicious thrill, "viol, flute and bassoon" burst
into beguiling bloom of the Zamora, and hands steal out to other hands,
arms cling to arms, and the winding, bewildering waltz begins.

Violet is talking to a young man, one of the Grandon Park neighbors,
who stands bashfully wondering if it would do to ask her to waltz.
Unconsciously her feet are keeping time, and her heart seems to rise
and fall to the enchantment in the air. Then she feels a presence
behind her and turns.

"This is our waltz," Floyd Grandon says, just above a whisper, and,
bowing to her companion, leads her away.

"Shall we go out on the balcony?" he asks, and the quick pressure on
his arm answers him. Out in the wide warm summer night, where the air
throbs and glows with some weird enchantment, he puts his arm about her
and draws her close; there are several irregular measures, then their
figures and steps seem to settle to each other, and they float down the
long space, up again, there is reversing to steady her a little, then
on and on. He looks down at the drooping eyes with their tremulous
lids, at the faint flush that comes and goes, he feels the throbbing
breath, and realizes what a powerful and seductive temptation this
might become. He is even kindled himself. For the first time he feels
himself capable of rousing such a torrent