found me, you took me in, you made me dance. I know, now, that I never danced before I came to you. I had been trained for years, but I didn't know how to dance. You are beginning to teach me. You mustn't leave me, really you mustn't."
Rosing was silent for a long time. At length he said abruptly: "And the lesson? You are not here to talk, Mademoiselle, but to dance!"
"I am quite ready."
"Wait," he said suddenly, "there is one more matter. In any case, you must, whether you go to Milan or not, have a name, a Russian name. During the night I named you."
"Indeed?" she mocked.
"Yes. I gave to you in the night a Russian name like enough to your own for you to remember it."
"And what is my name?"
"Varsovina. Lina Varsovina. I hope that one day you will bring credit to that name."
"I mustn't forget it, must I?"
She looked at him happily, sparkling with excitement. She could execute thirty fouettés, she was probably going to Milan, her name was Varsovina! Forgotten was Carnival, the music, the masked gentleman, and the sugarplums. . . . More swiftly forgotten even than her father, Vanessi, Nurdo the juggler, and the circus.
"I am so happy!" she said to Rosing.
"And the lesson?"
"At once, at once! I can hardly wait."
And she danced that morning with an almost passionate abandon.