Fessenden was as nearly intoxicated as a man may be in the presence of a thousand people. “Listen to the Chardash for a moment,” he said unsteadily. The Chardash was near its finish. The gypsies were playing madly. The peasants were shouting and stamping, their women dancing with the graceful energy of panthers; the spectators were looking on in delight, the bodies of many swaying slightly. The music stopped with a crash that had a note of disappointment and anger in its triumph; the peasants marched forward and bowed profoundly to their sovereigns--who looked as high and impersonal, yet gracious, as sovereigns should look--then filed out of the room, to revel in the servants’ quarters till morning. The guests were impatient to dance. The musicians in the gallery received their signal, and the opening quadrilles were quickly formed, eight in the four circle rooms. Fessenden walked through the stately old-fashioned quadrille very creditably. His hands were concealed in gauntlets, and his height would have saved his face from too close an inspection had any one felt sufficient interest in the old Prince to examine him in detail. Once only he caught the eye of the Countess Piroska Zápolya, and wondered if she had recognized him. He was the least vain of men, but she had exhibited a preference for the distinguished young millionaire as openly as a high-born maiden may; and the glance he encountered to-night was less guileless, perhaps less amiable than usual. But she left Fessenden’s mind as abruptly as she had entered it. He was absorbed in planning an interview alone with Ranata. He had come to the palace in doubt as to what he should say or leave unsaid until a future stage, but her sudden unmistakable yielding to her emotions, if not to him, had sent the blood to his head and spurred his will to action. He divined that she intended to play with those emotions under the protecting eye of the public; but while he had no mind to court too great temptation himself, he was determined to seclude her long enough for a conversation which should put an end to moods and coquetry, and compel her to face herself and him. The quadrille finished with a waltz, and he saw his opportunity. He put his arm about her before she had time to retire to her former position. “Take your train over your arm,” he said, “or you will have a circle about you as many yards deep; and I want to be lost in the crowd.”