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The second figure commenced, and I made a sad bungle: so I did of the third, and fourth, and fifth, for I never had danced a cotillon.
And yet this rumor of the dancing mania was an authentic premonition of the bloodier dance of death led by the Spartacus group. If Berlin did dance it was a cotillon of despair, caused by infinite war weariness, infinite hunger to forget humiliation for a few moments, and foreboding of troubles to come. Whether true or not, no one read the news without thinking it an ominous whisper.
"Well, what shouldn't I be doin' in Marjorie's?" Mr. Levy returned indignantly. "I was inviting her for my partner in the cotillon what you s'pose?" "You haven't got any right to!" Penrod protested hotly. "You can't do it yet." "I did do it yet!" said Maurice. "You can't!" insisted Penrod. "You got to allow them time first. He said the ladies had to be allowed time to prepare."
I think you could only get a hard drink by ordering something to eat and sitting down to your wine or beer at a table. Again I say that I saw no effects of drink in the crowd, and in one of the great restaurants built out over the sea on piers, where there was perpetual dancing to the braying of a brass-band, the cotillon had no fire imparted to its figures by the fumes of the bar.
Her body was encased in the casaquin of Brittany, a species of spencer made of the same cloth as the cotillon, adorned with a collarette of many pleats, the washing of which caused the only dispute she ever had with her sister-in-law, her habit being to change it only once a week.
His money won the day for the Bank of Manhattan Island. When the happy president and directors offered to pay him an astonishingly high rate of interest for the use of the money he proudly declined. The next day Miss Drew issued invitations for a cotillon. Mr. Montgomery Brewster was not asked to attend. Miss Drew's cotillon was not graced by the presence of Montgomery Brewster.
I cannot find a friend, because everybody is dancing this abominable cotillon. Perhaps you can help me," he added, looking at his father rather doubtfully. To his surprise and considerable relief the old Prince burst into a hearty laugh. "Of course," he cried. "What do you take me for? Do you think I would desert my boy in a fight?
"Am I obliged to dance the cotillon at all, cavaliere?" added Nobili, more and more confused. "Can't I sit out?" "Oh, impossible simply impossible!" cried Trenta, authoritatively. "Every couple is arranged. Not a man could fill your place; the whole thing would be a failure." "I am sorry," answered Nobili, in a low voice "sorry all the same."
You may find satisfaction, Signore Trenta, in the contemplation of your tomb, but the signorina is not eighty, nor am I, nor is the count. I propose that after being shut up so many years the Guinigi Palace be thrown open, and a ball given on the first floor in honor of the signorina. There should be a band from Florence and presents from Paris for the cotillon.
But the band had now ceased mellowing out the favorite medley which begins with "Casta Diva" and runs over into the lovely cadences of "Gentle Annie"; and the abrupt transition from that mournful strain to a light cotillon air warned four hundred holiday-people that the festive dance was about to begin on the wide floor between the engine-room and the saloon.
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