Bressant

One woman's beauty cannot be contrasted with another's; as well compare

a summer valley with the white clouds sailing over it; each is to be

enjoyed in its own way. But Cornelia's loveliness carried with it a

peculiar quality, which not only gratified the eye, but went further,

and seemed to touch a vital chord in the beholder, jarring throughout

his being with a sweet distribution of effect, and causing heart and

voice to vibrate. It made Bressant conscious in every fibre that he was

man and she woman. Whence came the influence he could not tell, and

meanwhile it gained ever stronger and deeper hold upon him. Was it from

the eyes, a-sparkle with the essence of youth and health? or from the

mouth, with its red warmth of full yet delicate curves? the gates of

what sweetness of breath! or from the crisp, dark, lustreless luxuriance

of the hair? or from the curved shadows melting on the cheeks, and

nestling beneath the chin? He could trace it to no single one of these

various elements--yet how lovely all were! Whence, then, was it? In a

bottle of wine there are many drops, alike in color, shape, flavor, and

sparkle; in which one, of all, lurks the intoxication? The only way to

make sure of the drop is to drink the bottle; and, even then, though

there will be no doubt about the intoxication, its precise origin may

still be disputed.

As Bressant bowed to Cornelia, who courtesied grandly in return, the

band struck up a waltz, which seemed to be at once reflected in her face

and manner. She was particularly sensitive to musical impressions, and

instinctively looked up to Bressant's face for sympathy, forgetting at

the moment that his infirmity would probably debar him from sharing her

enjoyment. However that might be, he was certainly not indifferent to

the silent music of her beauty; he was gazing down upon her with an

intensity which caused her to droop her eyes, and draw an uneven breath

or two. There was in him all a man's fire, strangely mingled with the

freshness of a boy.

"Take my arm," said he, offering it to her. After an instant's

hesitation, more mental, however, than physical, she laid her graceful

hand within it, and they moved toward the dancing-room.

But at the instant of contact an electric pulsation seemed to pass

through Cornelia's blood, imbuing it with a powerful ichor, alien to

herself, yet whose potency was delicious to her. She fancied, also, that

she herself went out in the same way to her companion, establishing a

magnetic interchange of personalities, so that each felt and shared the

other's thoughts and emotions.

They now stood in the principal dancing-hall, where several couples, who

had already taken the floor, were revolving with various degrees of

awkwardness. The music had flowed into Cornelia's ears until she was

full of the rhythmical harmony. She glanced up once more at her partner,

this time with a lustrous look of confidence. Was it possible that he

had become inspired through her? Certainly it seemed as if the feeling

of the tune were discernible in his face as well as hers; it was even

betokened by the lightsome pose of his figure, and a scarcely subdued

buoyancy in his step. Moment by moment did the occult sympathy between

one another and the cadence of the music grow more assured and complete;

and at length--though precisely how it came about neither Cornelia nor

Bressant could have told--they were conscious of floating through the

room, mutually supporting and leading on each other, mind and motion

pulsating with the beat of the tune, amid a bright, half-seen chaos of

lights, faces, and forms, dancing a waltz!