There is a part of this Neapolitan dance when the lady kneels, whilst the gentleman moves round her, not as a master, but as a conqueror.—­What at this moment were the charms and dignity of Corinne.  How regal, even in kneeling, did she appear!  And when she arose, striking her aerial cymbal, she seemed animated with that lively enthusiasm of youth and beauty, which would create a belief that nothing was wanting to complete her happiness.  Alas! it was far otherwise; but Oswald feared it, and sighed in the midst of his admiration of Corinne, as if each triumph of her genius was a degree of separation from him:  at the conclusion of the dance, the gentleman kneels in his turn, and the lady dances round him.  Corinne in this part, if it were possible, surpassed herself; her step was so light, as she tripped two or three times round the same circle, that her buskined feet seemed to fly over the floor with the velocity of lightning; and when she lifted up one of her hands, shaking the tambourine, while with the other she motioned the Prince Amalfi to rise, all the male part of the company were tempted to throw themselves on their knees too, except Oswald, who retired a few paces backward, and the Count d’Erfeuil, who advanced a few paces forward to compliment Corinne.  This enthusiasm of the Italians was by no means assumed, but was the spontaneous effect of their feelings.  They are not sufficiently practised in society and in self-esteem to pay much regard to the effect which their actions will produce; they never let themselves be thwarted in their pleasures by vanity, nor turned aside from the object of their pursuit by applause.

Corinne was charmed at her success, and thanked all her admirers with the most simple grace.—­The satisfaction she felt at having succeeded so well, appeared beneath a veil of modesty; but her chief anxiety was to make her way through the crowd, in order to reach the door against which the pensive Oswald was leaning.  When she had reached the spot, she paused to hear what he would say to her:—­“Corinne,” said he, endeavouring to conceal his captivation as well as the pain that he felt:  “Corinne, I hope you have met with sufficient homage and sufficient applause; but in the midst of these enthusiastic admirers, have you found one certain and courageous friend—­one protector for life?  Can this vain tumult of applause satisfy a heart like thine?”

FOOTNOTE: 

[20] It is the dance of Mm.  Recamier that gave me the idea of what I have attempted to describe.  This woman, so celebrated for her grace and beauty, offers in the midst of her misfortunes the example of so touching a resignation, and of such a total oblivion of her personal interests, that her moral qualities seem to everyone as remarkable as her accomplishments.

Chapter ii.