The transformation which Dannevig’s face underwent was almost terrible.  A look of perfectly animal savageness distorted for a brief moment his handsome features; his eyes flashed, and his brow was one mass of wrinkles.

“Do you mean to say that you refuse to introduce me?” he asked, in a hoarse whisper.

“That is exactly what I mean to say,” I answered, with well-feigned coolness.

“And do you really suppose,” he continued, while his brow slowly relaxed, “that you can prevent me from making that girl’s acquaintance, if I have made up my mind to thwart you?”

“I don’t suppose anything of the kind,” was my reply.  “But you know me well enough to be aware that you cannot browbeat me.  She shall, at all events, not owe your acquaintance to me.”

Dannevig stood for a while, pondering; then with one of those sudden transitions of feeling which were so characteristic of him, he continued in a tone of good-fellowship: 

“Come, now; this is ridiculous!  You have been dining on S——­’s leathery beef-steak, which I have so frequently warned you against, and, what is worse, you have had mince pie for dessert.  Your digestion is seriously deranged.  For old friends like you and me to quarrel over a little chit of a girl, is as absurd as committing suicide because you have scratched your hand with a pin.  If your heart is really engaged in this affair, then I wont interfere with you.  I wish you luck, although judging by what I have seen, I should say you might have made a better choice. Au revoir.”

He skipped lightly down the floor, and was lost in the crowd.  Having selected some journalistic friends as partners for Fraulein Hildegard, and listened with great patience to their rhapsodies over her beauty and loveliness, I stationed myself at the upper end of the hall, and in philosophic discontent watched the dancers.  Dannevig’s parting words had filled me with vague alarm; I knew that they were insincere, and I suspected that he was even now at work to accomplish some disastrous intention.  At this moment a couple came whirling straight toward me; a pale-green satin, train swept over my feet, and the cross of the order of Dannebrog sent a swift flash into my very eyes.  A fierce exclamation escaped me; my blood was in tumult.  I began to feel dangerous.  As the usual accelerated rush of violins and drums announced that the dance was near its end, I did not dare to seek my fair partner, and I had no pleasure to feign when I saw her advancing, with a light and eager step, to where I was standing.  She was evidently too preoccupied to notice the change I had undergone since our last parting.

“Now,” she said, with as near an approach to archness as a woman of her type is capable of, “you must not think me odd if I do something that may seem to you a little bit unconventional.  It is only your own kindness to me which encourages me to ask a favor, which I shouldn’t wonder if you would rather grant than not.  The fact is, there is a gentleman who wishes very much to dance with me, and my card is already full.  Now, would you mind giving up one of yours?  I know, in the first place, that it was from a sense of duty that—­that—­that you took so many,” she finished desperately, as I refused to come to her aid.