Was it not enjoyment enough to whirl through the maddening mazes of the
dance, into still deeper entanglements in the mysterious web that now
had immeshed the saloons, borne irresistibly along the rapid torrent of
music, through crowds swept in eddying circles by fresh gusts of sound,
like leaves blown about by the west wind,--at first in low, wide, slow
rounds, then whirling faster and faster, higher and higher, until the
spiral coil suddenly terminated, and the music and motion fell exhausted
together?
It was quite another thing to return to his friend the philosopher, who
was now in a very bad humor.
"Such fooling!" he cried, when Anthrops came back much exhilarated.
"That woman is the plague of my life! See," he continued, sarcastically,
"I picked up one of the ugly little pins that she fastens her hair with;
perhaps you might like it for a keepsake."
Anthrops snatched eagerly at the little black thing his old friend held
contemptuously balanced on his fingers, but dropped it immediately. Such
a miserable thing to hold those glorious tresses! His dagger was better.
The recollection that it was his dagger that now confined them dispelled
the chill which the irate philosopher had thrown over his glowing
excitement; he submissively proposed a return to potatoes, piling up
famine and wheat over the one little thought that diffused such a
delicious warmth through his breast; as charcoal-burners heap dead ashes
over their fire, to hide it from the rough intrusion of chilling winds.
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