Indeed they merely increased the scuffle, which
rapidly developed towards a free fight. Hats were knocked off, dresses
were torn. The women got frightened and began to scream. The men swore,
and some lost their tempers and struck out right and left. Valentine
watched the scene with laughing eyes as if he enjoyed it. Especially he
watched Julian, who, with scarlet face and sparkling eyes, still forced
Cuckoo round and round in the midst of the tumult. Cuckoo was white, and
seemed to be half fainting. Her head rested helplessly against Julian's
shoulder, and her eyes stared at him as if fascinated. Her dress was
torn, and her black veil hung awry. If she danced with the hours it was
without joy or desire.
But suddenly police appeared. The dancers, abruptly realizing that a joke
was dying in a disaster, ceased to prance. Some violently assumed airs of
indifference and of alarming respectability. Many sinuously wound their
way out to the promenade. A few, who had completely lost their heads,
hustled the police, and were promptly taken into custody. Julian would
have been among these had it not been for the intervention of Valentine,
who caught him by the shoulder, and drew him and Cuckoo away.
"No; you mustn't end to-night in a cell," he said in Julian's ear.
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