The Rossinians were giving a party in honor of Winnie’s fifteenth birthday, and for several days before the event, Nejib and his sister endeavored to initiate Archag into the mysteries of the dance, but their pupil did not make very good progress; he made fun of himself, saying that he skipped with about as much grace as a young bear. He got on well enough with the polka, the glide, or the lancers, but as soon as the lad began to waltz, his head swam, his feet got all mixed up, and he was obliged to stop.

“It’s quite useless for you to try any more,” said Miss Pritchard amiably. “I would much rather teach a camel to dance.”

So Archag took her at her word and gave up trying to waltz.

All the young people of Aleppo were invited to the Rossinian’s party. There were the daughters of the English consul, there were pretty young girls of the Levant, loaded with jewels and gewgaws, and there were dapper secretaries from the different consulates, whose only serious purpose in life seemed to be dancing with young girls. Archag felt embarrassed in the midst of all this fine society; he noticed that his brown suit and blue tie attracted attention; the young men turned to look at him, and the girls whispered to one another and shrugged their shoulders. Nejib had offered to lend him a dinner-jacket, but he was too proud to accept it, and now he was sorry. Miss Pritchard, swathed in mauve silk, with a bunch of violets poised at the top of her capillary edifice, looked him over disdainfully. Winnie, to be sure, had said a few pleasant words to him, but she was too much occupied with receiving her guests to give him much time. For a while he sat by himself in a corner, looking over a book, for the sake of appearances; then Nejib came looking for him, to announce supper.

“Ghel tchabouk (hurry up), I want to present you to Mademoiselle MarÉchal, for you have to take her in to supper.”

Archag followed him, greeted the young lady with an awkward bow, and offered her his arm. At the table he felt very much out of his element. His companion, the daughter of a rich French merchant, took no notice of him; she would reply dryly to the few remarks which the boy addressed to her, and would then turn to join in the merriment of those near her at the table.

The young people were lingering over dessert, when the enticing strains of a polka were heard; they rose at once, and each of the young men invited the girl whom he had taken in to supper to be his partner in this first dance. The couples formed gradually; Archag had made up his mind not to dance, but when he saw himself left almost alone with Mademoiselle MarÉchal, who was looking at him in some embarrassment, he summoned all his courage, and asked her to be his partner. And the polka was so easy, he need not be afraid of making a blunder. All went well at first, and Archag began to congratulate himself on getting out of the difficulty so well. But, alas, he had not reckoned with the parquet floors to which he was not accustomed. He slipped, and fell full length, dragging his partner down with him. Mademoiselle MarÉchal got up in a rage, hearing the ill-suppressed laughter of the other dancers. Archag was crimson with shame, as he stammered out a few words of apology, but the young beauty cut him short:

“Ah, that’s a little too much! When one doesn’t know how to dance, one at least refrains from making himself ridiculous!”

Archag longed for the earth to open and swallow him; but that being impossible, he went off to hide himself behind a group of foliage plants. The heat was suffocating and his head throbbed; he thought of his own relatives, so simple in their ways, and felt how out of place he was in this ball-room.

His reverie was interrupted by the sound of approaching voices. He would have liked to slip away unperceived, but it was now too late; the newcomers were already seated on a divan, and Archag, hidden behind his screen of foliage, heard everything they said.

One of the young men was congratulating Winnie on the success of her party, and the others added their praises. This sort of conversation was not interesting to our friend, and his thoughts were far away again, when he was startled by hearing his own name spoken.

“What has become of your Baron Archag?” said some one.

“He has probably gone to hide his diminished head in the cellar, or perhaps he is refreshing himself at the sideboard,” cried an Austrian.

“He’s a regular Danube peasant” (Archag recognized the voice of another Armenian boy), “and I can’t understand Nejib’s inviting him here. Did you hear what a noise he made when he was drinking? Just like a dog, licking his dish.”

“Aren’t you ashamed?” cried Winnie. “If Nejib were here he would soon teach you how to behave. Do you mean to say you have forgotten that this Danube peasant, as you call him, saved Nejib’s life? He is a fine boy, and my father and mother love him dearly. When I look at him I can’t help thinking that but for him I shouldn’t have my brother any more, and it’s easy enough to forget his small defects in the way of training.”

“You are right,” said Mademoiselle MarÉchal, “but he ought not to have asked me to dance when he didn’t know how, himself.”

“You know,” retorted the Armenian boy, “that Monsieur is as proud as a pasha; he thinks he knows it all, and when he goes back to Van he will probably go around boasting about what a success he was in society. Since Nejib is under obligations to him, he might better have given him some sort of present; the poor lad feels entirely out of place here, and is sighing for his goats and their stable.”

“That isn’t true!” cried Winnie again. “Baron Archag is modest and shy, but he is very happy here. Only yesterday he was thanking mamma in such a touching way, it brought tears to my eyes.”

“Since he pleases you so much, I’m sorry he didn’t dance with you,” replied Mademoiselle MarÉchal, pursing her lips.

“He must have had nerve to ask you. No doubt if he could have executed the sword dance or some other wild man’s antics, he would have done himself proud; but he was a big fool to try the polka, a dance of civilized people!”

Archag had restrained himself until now: but this last insult of the other Armenian boy was too much for him, and brushing aside the foliage which had hidden him, he came forward to face his adversary. Only his black eyes, darker than usual, and his quivering nostrils, betrayed his emotion.

“I believe you are right,” said he. “I am no good at these complicated European dances; luckily I can still do the sword dance that you scorn so, as our heroes used to dance it before engaging in battle. I am going to dance it for you, but I shall not invite Mademoiselle MarÉchal to take part in it.”

He went out of the room, and soon returned, bringing a sword and a shield. Before the guests had recovered from their surprise, the orchestra was playing a sad and tender melody, and Archag had begun to dance, brandishing his shield and sword above his head. As the music grew louder and more wild, the movements of the dancer increased in rapidity; now he darted forward, and stood poised with uplifted sword, to repulse an imaginary enemy; again he spun around like a top, whirling his sword rapidly, and beating upon his shield. Then the music gradually grew soft again, Archag’s intensity relaxed, and at last he sank exhausted on a seat.

The young people were roused to enthusiasm: they appreciated the beauty of this dance, and felt its superiority to the modern ball-room dances, so conventional and unpoetic. They all gathered eagerly around Archag; even Mademoiselle MarÉchal congratulated him, and invited him to call, on her reception day. Nejib and Winnie were delighted with their friend’s success. As for the other Armenian boy, he remained forgotten in a corner, quite eclipsed, and no one noticed when he went away.