And indeed Tamara was happy, in spite of her agitation and unrest.

She sat down now with Olga Gléboff, and they watched the others while
they took breath. The Prince was dancing with Princess Shébanoff, and
her charming face was turned up to him with an adoring smile.

"Poor Tatiane,--" Countess Olga said low to herself.

When the gipsies returned, their music grew wilder than ever, and some
of the solos seemed to touch responsive chords in Tamara's very bones.

The Prince sat next her on the sofa now, and every few moments he would
bend over to take an almond, or light a cigarette, so that he touched
her apparently without intention, but nevertheless with intent. And the
same new and intoxicating sensation would steal through her, and she
would draw her slender figure away and try to be stiff and severe, but
with no effect.

It was long after five o'clock before it was all done, and they began
to wrap up and say "Goodnight." And the troupe, bowing, went out to
another engagement they had.

"They sing all night and sleep in the day," Count Gléboff told Tamara,
as they descended the stairs. "At this time of the year they never see
daylight, only sometimes the dawn."

"Tantine," said the Prince, "order your motor to go back. I sent for my
troika, and it is here. We must show Madame Loraine what a sleigh feels
like."