ed with looking on at
the scene, which had the charm of novelty to his English eyes,
and commenting to himself on the appearance of the dancers.

"But you do wrong not to dance, dear Monsieur, I assure you,"
said his Belgian friend, coming up to him at the end of a
polka, with the elderly Countess, who with her dingy lilac
barege gown exchanged for a dingier lilac silk, and her sandy
hair fuzzier than ever, had been dancing vigorously.
"Mademoiselle Cecile's music is delicious," he continued, "it
positively inspires one; let me persuade you to attempt just
one little dance."

"Indeed, I would rather look on," said Horace; "I can listen to
Mademoiselle Cecile's music all the same, and I do not care
much for dancing, as I told you; besides, I don't know anyone
here."

"If that be all," cried the other eagerly, "I can introduce
you to half a dozen partners in a moment; that lady that I
have just been dancing with, for instance, will be charmed----"

"Stop, I entreat you," said the young Englishman, in alarm, as
his friend was about to rush off; "I cannot indeed--I assure
you I am a very bad dancer; I am tired with my long walk too."

"Ah, that walk," said the Belgian, "I did wrong in advising
you to take it; you prolonged it till you missed the _table-
d'hote_ dinner, and now you are too much fatigued to dance."

"But I am very much amused as it is, I assure you," insisted
Graham. "Do tell me something about all these people. Are they
all stopping at the hotel?"

His companion was delighted to give any information in his
power. No, not a third of the people were stopping at the
hotel, the greater part had come over from Liege, and would go
back there by the ten o'clock train.

"Then you do not know many of them?" Graham said.

"No," the Belgian admitted, "he did not know many of them;
only those who were staying at Chaudfontaine. That lady he had
just been dancing with, Monsieur had seen in the morning, he
believed; she was the Countess G----, a most distinguished
person, with blood-royal in her veins, and came from Brussels.
That pretty girl in blue was Mademoiselle Sophie L----, who was
going to be married next month to one of the largest
proprietors in the neighbourhood, the young man standing by
her, who was paying her so much attention. The odd-looking man
in shoes and buckles was a rising genius, or thought himself
so, a violinist, who came over occasionally from Liege, and
hoped to make his fortune so