rving the costumes of the dancers and
their involved movements with a simple sense of enjoyment. The rhythmic
swaying of handsome men and women in the mazes of a dance often produces
on the bystanders a sensation of poetic dreaminess, quite independent of
the accompanying music, and which may be traced directly to the
magnetism of the human form.

It is only true to say that nobody in the Menuet elicited more sympathy
and admiration than Pauline Belmont. The perfection of her dancing, the
sweetness of her face, the modesty of her demeanour, and the childlike
reliance which she seemed to place on the cooperation of her stalwart
partner, Roderick Hardinge, were traits which could not pass unobserved,
and more than once when she swung back into position after the
culmination of a figure, she was greeted with murmurs of applause.
Several gallant old Frenchmen, who looked on humming the music which
they knew so well, signified their approval by words allied to their
subdued chat. Finally, when the second strain was over, the peculiar
nineteen bars had been played, the _Chaine Anglaise_ had been made, and
the honours performed by profound salutations to the distinguished
company and to the respective partners, the executants retired from the
floor and were immediately set upon by a mob of congratulating friends.
Among them, the portly form of Carleton, with his white shaven face, and
large pleasant eyes, was prominent. He addressed his felicitations to
several of the dancers, and thanked them for the splendid termination
which they had given to the festival. Near them stood his friend
Bouchette, who had been one of the lions of the evening, and who
improved these last moments with a few words of lively conversation with
Pauline.

"This has been a magnificent ball," said he, "worthy of our Governor and
worthy of old Quebec, but what is a particular source of pride to me is
that the belle of the evening has been a countrywoman of mine. You have
shed glory on your race, mademoiselle. I will not fail to report this to
my old friend, M. Belmont, and I am sure the delight he will experience
will be a compensation for his absence."

Pauline blushed as she heard these compliments, and clung more closely
to the arm of Hardinge. She faltered a few words of thanks, but her
confusion was not relieved till the interview closed by the pressure of
the crowds breaking up and making their way to the cloakrooms.

Shortly afterwards, the ga