father ask me to dance the bolero which he and Alix were playing!...
Every one made room for us, crying, "_Oh, oui, Mlle. Suzanne; dancez! Oh,
dancez, Mlle. Francoise!_" I did not wish to disobey my father. I did not
want to disoblige my friends. Suzanne loosed her red scarf and tossed one
end to me. I caught the end of the shawl that Suzanne was already waving
over her head and began the first steps, but it took me only an instant to
see that the task was beyond my powers. I grew confused, my head swam, and
I stopped. But Alix did not stop playing; and Suzanne, wrapped in her
shawl and turning upon herself, cried, "Play on!"

I understood her intention in an instant.

Harp and flute sounded on, and Suzanne, ever gliding, waltzing, leaping,
her arms gracefully lifted above her head, softly waved her scarf, giving
it a thousand different forms. Thus she made, twice, the circuit of the
deck, and at length paused before Mario Carlo. But only for a moment. With
a movement as quick as unexpected, she threw the end of her scarf to him.
It wound about his neck. The Italian with a shoulder movement loosed the
scarf, caught it in his left hand, threw his violin to Celeste, and bowed
low to his challenger. All this as the etiquette of the bolero inexorably
demanded. Then Maestro Mario smote the deck sharply with his heels, let go
a cry like an Indian's war-whoop, and made two leaps into the air, smiting
his heels against each other. He came down on the points of his toes,
waving the scarf from his left hand; and twining his right arm about my
sister's waist, he swept her away with him. They danced for at least half
an hour, running the one after the other, waltzing, tripping, turning,
leaping. The children and Gordon shouted with delight, while my father, M.
Carpentier, and even Alix clapped their hands, crying, "Hurrah!"

Suzanne's want of dignity exasperated me; but when I tried to speak of it,
papa and Alix were against me.

"On board a flatboat," said my father, "a breach of form is permissible."
He resumed his flute with the first measures of a minuet.

"Ah, our turn!" cried Alix; "our turn, Francoise! I will be the cavalier!"

I could dance the minuet as well as I could the bolero--that is, not at
all; but Alix promised to guide me: and as, after all, I loved the dance
as we love it at sixteen, I was easily persuaded, and fan in hand followed
Alix, who for the emergency wore her husband's hat; and our minuet was
receive