y
held their hands propped on their spread knees, and blew out their
cheeks with a well-to-do air, while the mothers, with bonnets on their
parted hair, hands folded on their stomachs, and head on one side,
looked into the swarm of young people. A platform had been erected
against one of the long side walls, and here the musicians were doing
their best. There was even a trumpet, which pealed with a certain
hesitant cautiousness, as if afraid of its own voice, but which none
the less constantly broke and gave out ... Whirling and surging the
couples moved about each other, while others promenaded arm in arm.
They were not in gala dress, but only as on a summer afternoon spent in
the open: the cavaliers in suits of provincial cut, which one could see
had been spared all week, and the young girls in light, bright dresses
with bouquets of wild flowers on their bodices. A few children were in
the hall, too, and they danced together child-fashion, not even
stopping with the music. A long-legged person in a swallow-tailed coat,
a provincial lion, with monocle and curled hair, mail clerk or
something like it, looking like the comic figure of a Danish novel in
the flesh, seemed to be the manager of the festivities and director of
the ball. Precipitate, perspiring, and with his whole soul in his task,
he was everywhere at once; he "sashayed" officiously through the hall,
artfully treading on the balls of his feet, which were shod with
shining, pointed military boots, and setting them down crosswise in
some intricate fashion, swung his arms in the air, made arrangements,
called for music, clapped his hands,--and through all this the ribbons
of the great, gay-colored bow which was fastened to his shoulder in
token of his dignity, and toward which he occasionally turned his head
lovingly, fluttered in the air behind him.

Yes, they were there, those two that had passed Tonio Kroeger that day
in the sunlight; he saw them again and felt a joyful shock as he
perceived them both almost at once. Here stood Hans Hansen, quite close
to him, next to the door; with feet spread and a little bent forward he
was deliberately consuming a large piece of Madeira cake, hollowing his
hand under his chin to catch the crumbs. And there against the wall sat
Ingeborg Holm, fair-haired Inga, and the mail clerk just "sashaying" up
to her to ask her for a dance with a choice gesture, consisting in
laying one hand on his back and thrusting the other into hi