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 joined by a foreign ambassador, who proved to be entertaining, and who remained with me until supper was announced.

The mazurka began about one o'clock. I have heard of dancing all my life,—have even flattered myself that I could dance well; but I never knew what real dancing was until I saw the mazurka. It is the poetry of movement. I shall never hear mazurka music again without having a mad desire to start up and dance down the room. The figures are like those in the German; but how different from our calm, lazy way of gliding to and fro is the sprightly air, the abandon, the rhythm, the grace with which these young Russians jingle their spurs, and, seizing the hand of their partner, look at her with glances which seem to tell all the admiration they fear to speak, while she returns the look, like a true coquette. They dance for pure love of the amusement,—not as if they were undergoing a penance, and trying to make the best of it. The music itself is enough to put life even into the coldest blood. The time is well marked by the piano and the heels of the gentlemen, which are brought down with a stamp.

Mr. Thurber, like an Englishman, sneers a little, and calls it theatrical. Certainly, both Englishmen and Americans are too self-conscious to dance it well.

After the mazurka, a hot supper was served in the next room. Sacha, not having been fortunate enough to get a partner for the dance, escorted me to the dining-room, and undertook to provide for my wants. I had resisted his efforts to talk with me all the evening,