Rezanov

  X

  Concha had eaten no supper. As she entered the sala she clapped herhands, the guests ranged themselves against the wall, the musicians,livelier than ever, flew to their instruments; with the drifting,swaying movement she could assume at will, she went slowly, absently,to the middle of the room. Then she let her head drop backward, as ifwith the weight of her hair, and Rezanov, vaguely angry, expected oneof those appeals to the senses for which Spanish women of another sortwere notorious. But Concha, after tapping the floor alternately withthe points and the wooden heels of her slippers, for a few moments,suddenly made an imperious gesture to Ignacio Sal. He sprang to herside, took her hand, and once more there was the same monotonoustapping of toes and heels. Then they whirled apart, bent their lithebacks until their brows almost touched the floor in a salute of mockadmiration, and danced to and from each other, coquetry in the verytilt of her eyebrows, the bare semblance of masculine indulgence on hiseager, passionate face. Suddenly to the surprise of all, she snappedher fingers directly under his nose, waved her hand, turned her back,and made a peremptory gesture to that other enamoured young swain,Captain Antonio Castro of Monterey. Don Ignacio, surprised anddiscomfited, retired amidst the jeers of his friends, and Concha, withher most vivacious and gracious manner, met Castro half way, and,taking his hand, danced up and down the sala, slowly and with manyimprovisations. Then, as they returned to the center of the room andstepped lightly apart before joining in a gay whirl, she snapped herfingers under HIS nose, made a gesture of dismissal over her shoulder,and fluttered an uplifted hand in the direction of Sturgis. Againthere was a delighted laughter, again a discomforted knight and atriumphant partner.

  "Concha always gives us something we do not expect," said Santiago toRezanov, whose eyes were twinkling. "The other girls dance El Son andLa Jota very gracefully--yes. But Conchita dances with her head, andthe musicians and the partner, when she takes one, have all they can doto follow. She will choose you, next, senor."

  Rezanov turned cold, and measured the distance to the door. "I hopenot!" he said. "I should hate nothing so much as to make an exhibitionof myself. The dances I know--that is all very well--but toimprovise--for the love of heaven help me to get out!"

  But Santiago, who was watching his sister intently, replied: "Wait amoment, Excellency. I do not think she will choose another. I know byher feet that she intends to dance El Son--in her own way, ofcourse--after all."

  Concha circled about the room twice with Sturgis, lifted him to theseventh heaven of expectancy, dismissed him as abruptly as the others.Lifting her chin with an expression of supreme disdain for all his sex,she stood a moment, swaying, her arms hanging at her sides.

  "I am glad she will not dance with Weeliam," muttered Santiago. "Ilove him--yes; but the Spanish dance is not for the Bostonian."

  Rezanov awaited her performance with an interest that caused him somecynical amusement. But in a moment he had surrendered to her once moreas a creature of inexhaustible surprise. The musicians, watching her,began to play more slowly. Concha, her arms still supine, her headlifted, her eyes half veiled, began to dance in a stately and measuredfashion that seemed to powder her hair and dissolve the partitionsbefore an endless vista of rooms. Rezanov had a sudden vision of theHall of the Ambassadors in the royal palace at Madrid, where, when ayoung man on his travels, he had attended a state ball. There he hadseen the most dignified beauties of Europe dance at the most formal ofits courts. But Concha created the illusion of having stepped downfrom the throne in some bygone fashion to dance alone for her subjectsand adorers.

  She raised her arms, barely budding at the top, with a gesture that wasnot only the poetry of grace but as though bestowing some royal favor;when she curved and swayed her body, again it was with the loftysweetness of one too highly placed to descend to mere seductiveness.She glided up and down, back and forth, with a dreamy revealing motionas if assisting to shape some vague impassioned image in the brain of apoet. She lifted her little feet in a manner that transformed boardsinto clouds. There were moments when she seemed actually to soar.

  "She is a little genius!" thought Rezanov enthusiastically. "Anythingcould be made of a woman like that."

  It was not her dancing alone that interested him, but its effect on heraudience. The young men had begun with audible expressions ofapproval. They were now shouting and stamping and clapping. Suddenly,as once more she danced back to the very center of the room, her bosomheaving, her eyes like stars, her red lips parted, Don Ignacio, longsince recovered from his spleen, invaded his pocket and flung a handfulof silver at her feet. It was a signal. Gold and silver coins,chains, watches, jewels, bounced over the floor, to be laughinglyignored. Rezanov looked on in amazement, wondering if this were a partof the performance and if he should follow suit. But after a glance atthe faces of the young men, lost to everything but their passionateadmiration for the unique and beautiful dancing of their Favorita, andwhen Sturgis, after wildly searching in his pockets, tore a large pearlfrom the lace of his stock, he doubted no longer--nor hesitated.Fastened by a blue ribbon to the fourth button of his closely fittingcoat was a golden key, the outward symbol of his rank at court. Hedetached it, then made a sudden gesture that caught her attention. Fora moment their eyes met. He tossed her the bauble, and mechanicallyshe lifted her hand and caught it. Then she laughed confusedly,shrugged her shoulders, bowed graciously to her audience, and signalledto the musicians to stop. Rezanov was at her side in a moment.

  "You must be tired," he said. "I insist that you come out on theveranda and rest."

  "Very well," she said indifferently; "it is quite time we all went outto the air. Santiago mio, wilt thou bring my reboso--the white one?"

  Santiago, more flushed than his sister at her triumphs, fetched thelong strip of silk, and Rezanov detached her from her eager court andled her without. Elena Castro followed closely, yet with a cavalier ofher own that her friend might talk freely with this interestingstranger. The night air was cool and stimulating. The hills wereblack under the sparks of white fire in the high arch of the Californiasky. In the Presidio square were long blue shadows that might havebeen reflections of the smoldering blue beyond the stars. Rezanov andConcha sat on the railing at the end of the "corridor."

  "It is a custom--all that very material admiration?" he asked.

  "A very old one, but not too often followed. Otherwise we should notprize it. But when some Favorita outdoes herself then she receives thegreatest reward that man can think of--gold and silver jewels. We donot dare to return the tributes in common fashion, but they have a wayof appearing where they belong as soon as their owners are supposed tohave forgotten the incident. As you are not a Californian, senor, Itake the liberty of returning this without any foolish subterfuge."She handed him his contribution. "I thank you all the same. It was aspontaneous act, and I am very proud."

  He accepted the key awkwardly, not daring to press it upon her, withthe obvious banalities. But he felt a sudden desire to give hersomething, and, nothing better offering, he gathered half a dozen rosesand laid them on her lap.

  "I was disappointed that you did not wear your roses to-night," hesaid. "I associate them with you in my thoughts. Will you put one inyour hair?"

  She found a place for two and thrust another in the neck of her gown.The rest she held closely in her hands. Then he noticed that she wasvery white, and again she shivered.

  "You are cold and tired," he murmured, his eyes melting to hers. "Itwas entrancing, but I hope never to see you give so much of yourself toothers again." His hand in arranging the reboso touched hers. Itlingered, and she stared up at him, helplessly, her eyes wide, her lipsparted. She reminded him of a rabbit caught in a trap, and he had asudden and violent revulsion of feeling. He rose and offered his arm."I should be a brute if I kept you talking out here. Slip off and goto bed. I shall start the guests, for I am very tired myself."