Advancing on tiptoe, he put his present into Greta’s hands.  It was a small bronze copy of a Donatello statue.

“Oh, Herr Harz!” cried Greta; “I saw it in the studio that day.  It stood on the table, and it is lovely.”

Mrs. Decie, thrusting her pale eyes close to it, murmured:  “Charming!”

Mr. Treffry took it in his forgers.

“Rum little toad!  Cost a pot of money, I expect!” He eyed Harz doubtfully.

They went into the next room now, and Herr Paul, taking Greta’s bandage, transferred it to his own eyes.

“Take care—­take care, all!” he cried; “I am a devil of a catcher,” and, feeling the air cautiously, he moved forward like a bear about to hug.  He caught no one.  Christian and Greta whisked under his arms and left him grasping at the air.  Mrs. Decie slipped past with astonishing agility.  Mr. Treffry, smoking his cigar, and barricaded in a corner, jeered:  “Bravo, Paul!  The active beggar!  Can’t he run!  Go it, Greta!”

At last Herr Paul caught Cousin Teresa, who, fattened against the wall, lost her head, and stood uttering tiny shrieks.

Suddenly Mrs. Decie started playing The Blue Danube.  Herr Paul dropped the handkerchief, twisted his moustache up fiercely, glared round the room, and seizing Greta by the waist, began dancing furiously, bobbing up and down like a cork in lumpy water.  Cousin Teresa followed suit with Miss Naylor, both very solemn, and dancing quite different steps.  Harz, went up to Christian.

“I can’t dance,” he said, “that is, I have only danced once, but—­if you would try with me!”

She put her hand on his arm, and they began.  She danced, light as a feather, eyes shining, feet flying, her body bent a little forward.  It was not a great success at first, but as soon as the time had got into Harz’s feet, they went swinging on when all the rest had stopped.  Sometimes one couple or another slipped through the window to dance on the veranda, and came whirling in again.  The lamplight glowed on the girls’ white dresses; on Herr Paul’s perspiring face.  He constituted in himself a perfect orgy, and when the music stopped flung himself, full length, on the sofa gasping out: 

“My God!  But, my God!”

Suddenly Christian felt Harz cling to her arm.

Glowing and panting she looked at him.

“Giddy!” he murmured:  “I dance so badly; but I’ll soon learn.”

Greta clapped her hands:  “Every evening we will dance, every evening we will dance.”

Harz looked at Christian; the colour had deepened in her face.

“I’ll show you how they dance in my village, feet upon the ceiling!” And running to Dawney, he said: 

“Hold me here!  Lift me—­so!  Now, on—­two,” he tried to swing his feet above his head, but, with an “Ouch!” from Dawney, they collapsed, and sat abruptly on the floor.  This untimely event brought the evening to an end.  Dawney left, escorting Cousin Teresa, and Harz strode home humming The Blue Danube, still feeling Christian’s waist against his arm.