sidore," and bragged about the vehemence of his attachment. I asked
her if she loved him in return.

"He is handsome; he loves me to distraction; and so I am amused," was
the reply.

"But if he loves you, and it comes to nothing in the end, he will be
miserable."

"Of course he will break his heart. I should be disappointed if he
didn't."

"Do try to get a clear idea of the state of your own mind," I said, "for
to me it really seems as chaotic as a rag-bag."

"It is something in this fashion. He thinks far more of me than I find
it convenient to be, while I am more at ease with you, you old cross-
patch, you who know me to be coquettish and ignorant and fickle."

"You love M. Isidore far more than you think or will avow."

"No. I danced with a young officer the other night whom I love a
thousand times more than he. Colonel Alfred de Hamal suits me far
better. _Vive les joies et les plaisirs_!"

It was as English teacher that I was engaged at Madame Beck's school,
but the annual fete brought me into prominence in another capacity. The
programme included a dramatic performance, with pupils and teachers for
actors, and this was given under the superintendence of M. Paul Emanuel.
I was dressed a couple of hours before anyone else, and reading in my
classroom, the door was flung open, and in came M. Paul with a burst of
execrable jargon: "Mees, play you must; I am planted here."

"What can I do for you?" I inquired.

"Play you must. I will not have you shrink, or frown, or make the prude.
Let us thrust to the wall all reluctance."

What did the little man mean?

"Listen!" he said. "The case shall be stated, and you shall answer me
'Yes' or 'No.' Louise Vanderkelkov has fallen ill--at least, so her
ridiculous mother asserts. She is charged with a role; without that role
the play stopped. Englishwomen are either the best or the worst of their
sex. I apply to an Englishwoman to save me. What is her answer--'Yes,'
or 'No'?"

Seeing in his vexed, fiery and searching eye an appeal behind its
menace, my lips dropped the word "Oui."

His rigid countenance relaxed with a quiver of content; then he went on:

"Here is the book. Here is your role. You must withdraw." He conveyed me
to the attic, locked me in, and took away the key.

What I felt that successful night, and what I did, I no more expected to
feel and do than to be lifted in a trance to the seventh heaven. A keen
relish for dramatic expression revealed it