'Twas the chaconne; slow, graceful and
full of romance, the full major lifting and seeming to float, at last
dying imperceptibly into the minor passacaille. About were seated,
carelessly and after the manner of men who had pulled at the bottle
for hours in the hunting field and were now somewhat overcome by
warmth and _ennui_, beaux old and young, 'suaging their appetite of
mouth and eye by wine and women.
"'Tis the King sets the pace!" said one, close to the curtain.
"Egad!" said another. "He not only sets it, but carries it along. He
has fine wenches at his beck and call." 'Twas evident 'twas but the
beginning of revelry; a sort of bacchanalian prelude to what might
come later. No sooner was this dance finished than another began.
Some lithe creature came forth to dance, in bright scarlet, the
passacaglia. The glasses were refilled and the noise became more
boisterous; and the scandal more flagrant. The candles were set aglow
again and tables were brought for those wishing to gamble. And one
richly dressed and full of wine sprung upon a table and held aloft a
glass and called forth:
"Here, here is to his Lordship of Crandlemar and to a long life of
free and easy celibacy.
Pages:
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87