At last the Emperor stopped beside his last partner (he had danced with three) and the music ceased.

A worried aide-de-camp ran up to the Rostovs requesting them to stand farther back, though as it was they were already close to the wall, and from the gallery resounded the distinct, precise, enticingly rhythmical strains of a waltz.

The Emperor looked smilingly down the room.

A minute passed but no one had yet begun dancing.