the softer breezes of the south. As she continued to dance her frail body began to dominate all the vast stage, and at once became a thing of vivid potent beauty, an instrument with which to express all that was loveliest in a world where there might exist nothing ugly; it was as if a light burned bright in her body, and burning, helped to create the illusion that her flying feet had really ceased to touch the ground, for it was as if a magie fire bore her into the air, so that while she danced she was no longer mortal, but a fairy woman, most eerie, most disquieting to behold.
Borek, the hunting Prince, crouched in reeds, bow and arrow in his hand, watched her in amazement. He thought: "She has not danced like this for ten years." And then as she floated toward him he discovered that as she sped past in the whirling pas de bourré she was singing to herself, a queer, wordless, crooning song. And he feit guilty, as though he had heard some secret not meant for his ears.
His cue came, and they began their pas de deux. When he caught her she laughed, a gleeful laugh that came from somewhere deep in her throat. And she was once more thistledown in his arms. There was nothing of her at all; she might have melted like a snow-wreath and he would not have known that she had vanished.
He muttered once, honestly bewildered: "You are superb!"
Weiss, conducting, feit exactly as though he were following the dazzling movement of some bright, bewildering will-o'-the-wisp. As for Kessel, one can not wonder that he wept. And as he wept he said to himself again and again:
"The young Varsovina! She is here once more, the young Varsovina, and I am witnessing a miracle!"
Even Duflos, who loathed her with good reason, cried