By dint
of some little management and piling up the chairs an unoccupied
space of about twelve feet square was obtained. Pauline began
dancing, her father accompanying her with an oboe. It was a very
curious performance. It was nothing like ordinary opera-dancing, and
equally unlike any movement ever seen at a ball. It was a series of
graceful evolutions with the shawl which was flung, now on one
shoulder and now on the other, each movement exquisitely resolving
itself, with the most perfect ease, into the one following, and
designed apparently to show the capacity of a beautiful figure for
poetic expression. Wave fell into wave along every line of her body,
and occasionally a posture was arrested, to pass away in an instant
into some new combination. There was no definite character in the
dance beyond mere beauty. It was melody for melody's sake. A
remarkable change, too, came over the face of the performer. She
looked serious; but it was not a seriousness produced by any strain.
It was rather the calm which is found on the face of the statue of a
goddess. In none of her attitudes was there a trace of
coquettishness, although some were most attractive.
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