ant, with the words--

Honneur au plus vaillant.

Petrea thought that this was remarkably striking and apropos, and
secretly expected that her knight would lay the myrtle-spray with which
he was playing at her feet, adding very appropriately--

Hommage a la plus belle.

"Most humble thanks!" said Lieutenant Y., taking the rose with
misfortune-promising indifference. But Fate delivered Petrea from the
unpleasantness of waiting in vain for a politeness she desired, for
suddenly there arose a disturbance in the ball-room, and voices were
heard which said, "She is fainting! Gracious heaven! Sara!"

Myrtle-spray, knight, conquest, all vanished now from Petrea's mind, and
with a cry of horror she rushed from Lieutenant Y. into the ball-room at
the very moment when Sara was carried out fainting. The violent dancing
had produced dizziness; but taken into a cool room, and sprinkled with
eau de Cologne and water, she soon recovered, and complained only of
horrible headache. This was a common ailment of Sara's, but was quickly
removed when a certain remedy was at hand.

"My drops!" prayed Sara, in a faint voice.

"Where? where?" asked Petrea, with a feeling as if she would run to
China.

"In the little box in our chamber," said Sara.

Quick as thought sped the kind Petrea across the court to the east wing.
She sought through the chamber where their things were, but the box was
not to be found. It must have been left in the carriage. But where was
the carriage? It was locked up in the coach-house. And where was the key
of the coach-house?

Great was Petrea's fatigue before she obtained this; before she reached
the coach-house; and then before, with a lantern in her hand, she had
found the missing box. Great also, on the other hand, was her joy, as
breathless, but triumphant, she hastened up to Sara with the little
bottle of medicine in her hand, and for reward she received the not less
agreeable commission of dropping out sixty drops for Sara. Scarcely,
however, was the medicine swallowed, when Sara exclaimed with violence:

"You have killed me, Petrea! You have given me poison! It is
unquestionably Louise's elixir!"

It was so! The wrong bottle had been brought, and great was the
perplexity.

"You do everything so left-handedly, Petrea!" exclaimed Sara, in
ill-humour; "you are like the ass in the fable, that would break the
head of his friend in driving away a fly!"

These were hard words for poor Petrea,