“’Twill come in time,—­I can now discern that ’tis the folk that art moving and not the flowers and lights.  I see a red figure seeming to hurry among the dancers, looking this way and that, peering and peeping; he has lost something.”

“’Tis more probable he is looking for what he has found; ’tis thy stairway-beau with the rose; he has retrieved it and is hot upon the chase again.  He is looking for thee.—­’Tis vain my lord-devil, thou hadst better use the time to swathe thy feet in asbestos-flax.”

The music of the passacaglia floated up and Katherine drank in its minor sweetness.  Presently the dance changed into the chaconne with its prominent bass theme, again turning to the poetic and stately sarabande.

“Now I do see the Scot; he is by far the most homely figure anywhere, and yet, he is graceful, and it must be a very great beauty with him.  How could the master of so great a house look so?” The music changed into a sprightly gavotte, Katherine’s ears fairly tingled with the confusion of sound.  She lay her head upon Janet’s bosom as if drunk with the surfeit of music.

“’Tis more than I could have dreamed.  Didst ever see anything so beautiful before?  It seems years ago since we were within convent walls!”

“’Twill bring thy seeming nearer if thy lord proposes a speedy return to the cloister.”

“Nay, I would not go.”

“Ah, then, enjoy the present and think of moments and not cycles.  Here thou shalt sit on this low divan, behind this tripod of roses; there, thou canst hear what they whisper when the music ceases.”  They sat ensconced in flowers and drapings of satin brocade, looking down upon splendidly and wonderfully dressed princes and dukes, lords and counts, with their ladies dancing the gavotte.  There was the perfection of beauty and stateliness and romance.  The few unmasked faces were smiling and bright with powder and rouge; dainty hands flourished fans; and there was the low click of high heels upon the parquetry.  Jewels flashed and brocades gleamed; a shimmering accompaniment completing the symmetry of the brilliant dance.  It was not long before Janet called her companion’s attention to the lord of the castle.  He was dancing now with a very beautiful woman, even more so than the one before.

“He steps lightly, being so bandied.  Now I think on it, ’twere possible his legs were cushioned thus to hide a senile thinness!  ’Tis human nature when badgered by excess of limit to flounder into limitless excess.  Look upon the Burgomaster at thy feet with a surfeit of good round legs, he is unfortunate for being in excess, he cannot whittle down.  ’Tis a queer being with whom he dances,—­here comes a queen, see, she stops beneath thee,—­sh—­’Constance,’ my lord devil calls her, ‘Constance’; what thinkest thou, is she not beautiful?”

“See the bones in her neck, Janet, they protrude like pulpy blisters, and she looks flat of chest for a waist so abbreviated.”