will kindly make allowance; as a
foreigner she probably did not know our customs, or did not appreciate
their significance. Meess Lucie has regarded this ceremony as too
frivolous to be honoured by her observance."

"Famous!" I muttered between my teeth: "you are no bad speaker, Zelie,
when you begin."

The answer vouchsafed to Mademoiselle St Pierre from the estrade was
given in the gesticulation of a hand from behind the pyramid. This
manual action seemed to deprecate words, to enjoin silence.

A form, ere long, followed the hand. Monsieur emerged from his eclipse;
and producing himself on the front of his estrade, and gazing straight
and fixedly before him at a vast "mappe-monde" covering the wall
opposite, he demanded a third time, and now in really tragic tones--

"Est-ce la tout?"

I might yet have made all right, by stepping forwards and slipping into
his hand the ruddy little shell-box I at that moment held tight in my
own. It was what I had fully purposed to do; but, first, the comic side
of Monsieur's behaviour had tempted me to delay, and now, Mademoiselle
St. Pierre's affected interference provoked contumacity. The reader not
having hitherto had any cause to ascribe to Miss Snowe's character the
most distant pretensions to perfection, will be scarcely surprised to
learn that she felt too perverse to defend herself from any imputation
the Parisienne might choose to insinuate and besides, M. Paul was so
tragic, and took my defection so seriously, he deserved to be vexed. I
kept, then, both my box and my countenance, and sat insensate as any
stone.

"It is well!" dropped at length from the lips of M. Paul; and having
uttered this phrase, the shadow of some great paroxysm--the swell of
wrath, scorn, resolve--passed over his brow, rippled his lips, and
lined his cheeks. Gulping down all further comment, he launched into
his customary "discours."

I can't at all remember what this "discours" was; I did not listen to
it: the gulping-down process, the abrupt dismissal of his mortification
or vexation, had given me a sensation which half-counteracted the
ludicrous effect of the reiterated "Est-ce la tout?"

Towards the close of the speech there came a pleasing diversion my
attention was again amusingly arrested.

Owing to some little accidental movement--I think I dropped my thimble
on the floor, and in stooping to regain it, hit the crown of my head
against the sharp corner of my desk; which casualties (