[...] Dance, Kniaseff used to say, is a discipline that enables you to survive. One evening, he was sitting with her at the bar in Studio Wacker, in the muted light. They were alone, class having ended long before. He told her that this discipline gives real meaning to life and keeps you from drifting. He himself … She was amazed that he should confide in her, he who was normally so reserved, observing a kind of military rigidity. Do you know why the Russians have excelled in this discipline better than anyone? Because many of them have had to struggle against their internal chaos, their violence, and the melancholy that comes over them periodically. And he burst out laughing, as she listened to him with mouth agape. “You are my favorite pupil, and you mustn’t be afraid of suffering and bleeding into your dance slippers. You understand?” It was the first time he’d really spoken to her. During the lessons, she had so little self-confidence that she never would have imagined him paying any particular attention to her. It’s true that she often found herself with dancers who were older than she, more seasoned. And that evening, he had told her she was his “favorite pupil.” And he had even added, alluding to one of his former students: “If you keep it up, you’ll be as good as Chauviré …”