any.

The ambassador begged me to open the ball, and introduced me to the
highest born but not the most beautiful lady in the place. I then danced
with all the ladies present until the good-natured old man got me the
object of my vows as a partner in the quadrilles, which he did so easily
that no one could have made any remark. "Lord Murray," said he, "must
dance with no one but Lindane."

At the first pause I took the opportunity of saying that I had only come
to Soleure for her sake, that it was for her sake that I had disguised
myself at Zurich, and that I hoped she would permit me to pay my
addresses to her.

"I cannot invite you to my house," said she, "for certain sufficient
reasons; but if you will stay here some time we shall be able to see each
other. But I entreat you not to shew me any marked attention in public,
for there are those who will spy upon our actions, and it is not pleasant
to be talked about."

I was quite satisfied with this, and told her that I would do all in my
power to please her, and that the most prying eyes should have nothing to
fix on. I felt that the pleasure I looked forward to would be rendered
all the sweeter by a tincture of mystery.

I had proclaimed myself as a novice in the mimic art, and had entreated
my lame friend to be kind enough to instruct me. I therefore went to her
in the morning, but she could only flatter herself that hers was a
reflected light, as I had opportunities for paying my court to my charmer
in her house, and however great her vanity may have been, she must have
had some suspicions of the truth.

This woman was a widow, aged between thirty and forty years, of a
jaundiced complexion, and a piercing and malicious aspect. In her efforts
to hide the inequality of her legs, she walked with a stiff and awkward
air; and, wishing to be thought a wit, she increased her natural dullness
by a ceaseless flow of small talk. I persisted in behaving towards her
with a great air of respect, and one day she said that, having seen me in
the disguise of a waiter, she would not have thought I was a man of a
timid nature.

"In what respect do you think me timid?" said I; to which she gave me no
answer, but I knew perfectly well what she meant. I was tired of my part,
and I had determined to play it no more when we had acted L'Ecossaise.

All the best people at Soleure were present at our first performance. The
lame lady was delighted with the horror inspired by her acti