Nevertheless, the dance was a remarkable success, and little by little even the sternest adherents of absent Captain Deverax deigned to be amused by Denry’s Chinese gestures. Also, Denry led the cotillon, and was thereafter greatly applauded by the Beau-Site. The visitors agreed among themselves that, considering that his name was not Deverax, Denry acquitted himself honourably. Later he went to the bureau, and returning, whispered to his wife: "It’s all right. He’s come back safe." "How do you know?" "I ’ve just telephoned to ask." Denry’s subsequent humour was wildly gay. And for some reason which nobody could comprehend he put a sling round his left arm. His efforts to insert the eyeglass into his left eye with his right hand were insistently ludicrous and became a sure source of laughter for all beholders. When the Métropole party were getting into their sleighs to go home—it had ceased snowing—Denry was still trying to insert his eyeglass into his left eye with his right hand, to the universal joy. VII But the joy of the night was feeble in comparison with the violent joy of the next morning. Denry was wandering, apparently aimless, between the finish of the tobogganing track and the portals of the Métropole. The snowfall had repaired the defects of the worn track, but it needed to be flattened down by use, and a number of conscientious "lugeurs" were flattening it by frequent descents, which grew faster at each repetition. Other holiday makers were idling about in the sunshine. A page-boy of the Métropole departed in the direction of the Beau-Site with a note in his hand. At length—the hour was nearing eleven—Captain Deverax, languid, put his head out of the Métropole and sniffled the air. Finding the air sufferable, he came forth on to the steps. His left arm was in a sling. He was wearing the new knickerbockers which he had ordered at Montreux, and which were of precisely the same vast check as had ornamented Denry’s legs on the previous night. "Hullo!" said Denry sympathetically. "What’s this?" The Captain needed sympathy. "Ski-ing yesterday afternoon," said he, with a little laugh. "Has n’t the Countess told any of you?" "No," said Denry. "Not a word." The Captain seemed to pause a moment. "Yes," said he. "A trifling accident. I was ski-ing with the Countess. That is, I was ski-ing and she was in her sleigh." "Then this is why you did n’t turn up at the dance?" "Yes," said the Captain. "Well," said Denry. "I hope it’s not serious. I can tell you one thing, the cotillon was a most fearful frost without you." The Captain seemed grateful. They strolled together towards the track.