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<h2> XXII — THE MAZURKA </h2>
<p>AFTERWARDS the same young man formed one of the first couple in a mazurka.
He sprang to his feet, took his partner’s hand, and then, instead of
executing the pas de Basques which Mimi had taught us, glided forward till
he arrived at a corner of the room, stopped, divided his feet, turned on
his heels, and, with a spring, glided back again. I, who had found no
partner for this particular dance and was sitting on the arm of
Grandmamma’s chair, thought to myself:</p>
<p>“What on earth is he doing? That is not what Mimi taught us. And there are
the Iwins and Etienne all dancing in the same way-without the pas de
Basques! Ah! and there is Woloda too! He too is adopting the new style,
and not so badly either. And there is Sonetchka, the lovely one! Yes,
there she comes!” I felt immensely happy at that moment.</p>
<p>The mazurka came to an end, and already some of the guests were saying
good-bye to Grandmamma. She was evidently tired, yet she assured them that
she felt vexed at their early departure. Servants were gliding about with
plates and trays among the dancers, and the musicians were carelessly
playing the same tune for about the thirteenth time in succession, when
the young lady whom I had danced with before, and who was just about to
join in another mazurka, caught sight of me, and, with a kindly smile, led
me to Sonetchka. And one of the innumerable Kornakoff princesses, at the
same time asking me, “Rose or Hortie?”</p>
<p>“Ah, so it’s YOU!” said Grandmamma as she turned round in her armchair.
“Go and dance, then, my boy.”</p>
<p>Although I would fain have taken refuge behind the armchair rather than
leave its shelter, I could not refuse; so I got up, said, “Rose,” and
looked at Sonetchka. Before I had time to realise it, however, a hand in a
white glove laid itself on mine, and the Kornakoff girl stepped forth with
a pleased smile and evidently no suspicion that I was ignorant of the
steps of the dance. I only knew that the pas de Basques (the only figure
of it which I had been taught) would be out of place. However, the strains
of the mazurka falling upon my ears, and imparting their usual impulse to
my acoustic nerves (which, in their turn, imparted their usual impulse to
my feet), I involuntarily, and to the amazement of the spectators, began
executing on tiptoe the sole (and fatal) pas which I had been taught.</p>
<p>So long as we went straight ahead I kept fairly right, but when it came to
turning I saw that I must make preparations to arrest my course.
Accordingly, to avoid any appearance of awkwardness, I stopped short, with
the intention of imitating the “wheel about” which I had seen the young
man perform so neatly.</p>
<p>Unfortunately, just as I divided my feet and prepared to make a spring,
the Princess Kornakoff looked sharply round at my legs with such an
expression of stupefied amazement and curiosity that the glance undid me.
Instead of continuing to dance, I remained moving my legs up and down on
the same spot, in a sort of extraordinary fashion which bore no relation
whatever either to form or rhythm. At last I stopped altogether. Every-one
was looking at me—some with curiosity, some with astonishment, some
with disdain, and some with compassion, Grandmamma alone seemed unmoved.</p>
<p>“You should not dance if you don’t know the step,” said Papa’s angry voice
in my ear as, pushing me gently aside, he took my partner’s hand,
completed the figures with her to the admiration of every one, and finally
led her back to, her place. The mazurka was at an end.</p>
<p>Ah me! What had I done to be punished so heavily?</p>
<hr />
<p>“Every one despises me, and will always despise me,” I thought to myself.
“The way is closed for me to friendship, love, and fame! All, all is
lost!”</p>
<p>Why had Woloda made signs to me which every one saw, yet which could in no
way help me? Why had that disgusting princess looked at my legs? Why had
Sonetchka—she was a darling, of course!—yet why, oh why, had
she smiled at that moment?</p>
<p>Why had Papa turned red and taken my hand? Can it be that he was ashamed
of me?</p>
<p>Oh, it was dreadful! Alas, if only Mamma had been there she would never
have blushed for her Nicolinka!</p>
<p>How on the instant that dear image led my imagination captive! I seemed to
see once more the meadow before our house, the tall lime-trees in the
garden, the clear pond where the ducks swain, the blue sky dappled with
white clouds, the sweet-smelling ricks of hay. How those memories—aye,
and many another quiet, beloved recollection—floated through my mind
at that time!</p>
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