in the presence strangers."

But I was not satisfied. The more I watched them, the more I perceived a
lack of deference to her opinions and respect for her judgment--an
irritating assumption of superior wisdom, as if he had worn the visible
inscription, "I will accept homage, but not suggestions. Offer incense
and be content." Would the little princess be content? I saw symptoms of
rebellion.

"Do _you_ think I am a little fool, Madame Fleming?" she asked with
heightened color and impetuous tone, turning suddenly to me while they
were conversing apart one evening.

November came, and we were launched on the full tide of Parisian
society. Mr. Denham had gone to Germany to complete certain scientific
studies, and he left his fair betrothed with a parting injunction not to
dance with any foreigner. As well shut her up in a cell! Nowhere is
there such a furore for dancing as in Paris. Every family has its weekly
reception, and every card of invitation bears in the corner, "On
dansera." These receptions are the freest and gayest imaginable. Any
person who has the entree of the house comes when he feels inclined.
Introductions are not indispensable as with us: any gentleman may ask a
lady to dance with him, whether he has been formally presented or not,
and it would be an affront to decline except for a previous engagement.
The company assemble about ten, and often dance till three or four in
the morning. In any one house we see nearly the same people once a week
for the whole winter, and such frequent companionship gives a feeling of
intimacy. It is surprising how many French men and French women have
some special artistic talent, dramatic or musical, and with what ready
good-humor each contributes to the entertainment of the rest. In every
assembly, with all its sparkle of youth and gayety, there is a
background of mature age; but though a card-room is generally open, it
never seems to draw many from the salons de danse.

In these salons the little princess entered, at once upon her royalty.
Her dancing was the poetry of motion. She sang, and the most brilliant
men hung over her enraptured. "She was like Adelina Patti," they said,
"but of a more perfect and delicate type of beauty. What wonderful eyes,
with the long thick lashes veiling Oriental depths of liquid light! How
the music trickled from her fingers, and poured from her small throat
like the delicious warble of a nightingale! What a loss to art that her
positio