All the Frauengasse knew that. But the
Frauengasse itself was poor, and no man in Dantzig was so foolish at
this time as to admit that he had possessions.
This was, moreover, not the day of display or snobbery. The king of
snobs, Louis XVI., had died to some purpose, for a wave of manliness
had swept across human thought at the beginning of the century. The
world has rarely been the poorer for the demise of a Bourbon.
The Frauengasse knew that Antoine Sebastian played the fiddle to
gain his daily bread, while his two daughters taught dancing for
that same safest and most satisfactory of all motives.
"But he holds his head so high!" once observed the stout and matter-
of-fact daughter of a Councillor. "Why has he that grand manner?"
"Because he is a dancing-master," replied Desiree with a grave
assurance. "He does it so that you may copy him. Chin up. Oh! how
fat you are."
Desiree herself was slim enough and as yet only half grown. She did
not dance so well as Mathilde, who moved through a quadrille with
the air of a duchess, and threw into a polonaise or mazurka a quiet
grace which was the envy and despair of her pupils. Mathilde was
patient with the slow and heavy of foot, while Desiree told them
bluntly that they were fat. Nevertheless, they were afraid of
Mathilde, and only laughed at Desiree when she rushed angrily at
them, and, seizing them by the arms, danced them round the room with
the energy of despair.
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