Ange Pitou by Alexandre Dumas part one

As to Catherine, she did not appear to have, and very probably even had not, any idea of what was passing in poor Pitou’s heart. She was at once happy and proud,—happy at being about to dance, and proud of dancing with the handsomest cavalier of the whole neighborhood.

If Pitou had been constrained to admire Monsieur de Charny as a tennis-player, he was no less compelled to do him justice as a dancer. In those days the fashion had not yet sprung up of walking instead of dancing. Dancing was an art which formed a necessary part of the education of every one. Without citing the case of Monsieur de Lauzun, who had owed his fortune to the manner in which he had danced his first steps in the king’s quadrille, more than one nobleman owed the favor he had enjoyed at court to the manner in which he had extended his legs or pointed the extremity of his toe. In this respect the Viscount was a model of grace and perfection, and he might, like Louis XIV., have danced in a theatre with the chance of being applauded, although he was neither a king nor an actor.

For the second time Pitou looked at his own legs, and was obliged to acknowledge that unless some great metamorphosis should take place in that portion of his individuality, he must altogether renounce any attempt to succeed in vying with Monsieur de Charny in the particular art which he was displaying at that moment.

The country dance having ended,—for Catherine it had scarcely lasted a few seconds, but to Pitou it had appeared a century,—she returned to resume the arm of her cavalier, and could not avoid observing the change which had taken place in his countenance. He was pale; the perspiration stood in beads upon his forehead, and a tear, half dried up by jealousy, shone in his humid eye.

“Ah! good heaven!” she exclaimed, “what is the matter with you, Pitou?”

“The matter is,” replied the poor youth, “that I shall never dare to dance with you, after having seen you dance with Monsieur de Charny.”

“Pshaw!” said Catherine, “you must not allow yourself to be cast down in this way; you will dance as well as you are able, and I shall not feel the less pleasure in dancing with you.”

“Ah!” cried Pitou, “you say that, Mademoiselle, to console me; but I know myself, and I feel assured that you will always feel more pleasure in dancing with this young nobleman than with me.”

Catherine made no reply, for she would not utter a falsehood, only, as she was an excellent creature, and had begun to perceive that something extraordinary was passing in the heart of the poor youth, she treated him very kindly; but this kindness could not restore to him his lost joy and peace of mind. Father Billot had spoken truly: Pitou was beginning to be a man,—he was suffering.

Catherine danced five or six country dances after this, one of which was with Monsieur de Charny. This time, without suffering less in reality than before, Pitou was, in appearance, much more calm. He followed with eager eyes each movement of Catherine and her cavalier. He endeavored from the motion of their lips to divine what they were saying to each other, and when, during the figures of the dance, their hands were joined, he tried to discern whether their hands merely touched or pressed each other when thus they came in contact.

Doubtless it was the second dance with De Charny that Catherine had been awaiting, for it was scarcely ended when the young girl proposed to Pitou to return to the farm. Never was proposal acceded to with more alacrity; but the blow was struck, and Pitou, while taking long strides which Catherine from time to time was obliged to restrain, remained perfectly silent.

“What is the matter with you?” at length said Catherine to him, “and why is it that you do not speak to me?”

“I do not speak to you, Mademoiselle,” said Pitou, “because I do not know how to speak as Monsieur de Charny does. What would you have me say to you, after all the fine things which he whispered to you while dancing with you?”

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