dles, fixed in a metal disc, were flickering. A stove roared
in the corner. The wall behind it had been scorched by the heat, and in
front a large iron-plated screen had been placed, in order to protect
the women's dresses from the sparks that flew out of the open door.

[Footnote A: A Polish gymnastic society.]

The piano stood on a platform, which was now and then used as a stage;
and there was a pianist from Gnesen, not at all a bad player, who was
supported by a violin and a double-bass. The musicians played with a
good deal of rhythm, a fiery rhythm that carried the dancers away.
People danced well in Gradewitz. Schmielke's dancing was nothing
special here, although it had been considered exceedingly good at home.
The girls were as light as soap-bubbles; even stout Miss Trampel, the
baker's daughter, and the stupid, snub-nosed Miss Musielak, the
stationmaster's daughter, danced like feathers; still, they were not in
very much request.

Little Jadwiga, the rich mill-owner's daughter, who was wearing a
brand-new pale blue cashmere frock, cut square in front, which left her
neck bare as far as the freckles went, did not meet with as much
success as could be expected from her dress, which the Gradewitz
dressmaker had declared to be her masterpiece. And even Mariechen
Rozycki, whose very red arms [Pg 93] and hands stuck out of a pink silk
blouse, had to look on, while one man after another marched over to
Mrs. Tiralla. It was a bitter blow.

The girls put their heads together in the intervals between the dances.
All of them, whether fair or dark, brown or red, had had their hair
done exactly in the same way. The Gradewitz hairdresser had waved their
front hair and made it into an enormous roll over the forehead, with
the help of some padding. And then she had made three puffs of the back
hair, which she had placed at the top of the head. The only difference
between them all was the greater or lesser quantity of hair they had,
and the colour of the little bow placed coquettishly on the left side.

How awful these young girls looked. The one in bright pink, the other
in bright blue, the third in almost orange, the fourth in the colour of
arsenic. And then the women! Mrs. Rozycki, the butcher's wife, shone in
a stiff silk--dark reddish brown, trimmed with yellow lace--not at all
bad in itself, but how common her fat face looked over her tight silk
bodice that seemed ready to burst. And then the others! Mrs. Jok