he man and the bear were dancing
opposite each other. It was a weird and uncanny sight,
the grotesque dwarf, with his face flushed and his hair
on end, capering about and kicking with his pigmy legs,
and the bear with uncouth waddles waltzing round and
round, its movements every now and again being accelerated
by a judicious dig in the ribs from Pepin's stick.
Bastien Lagrange fiddled away as if for dear life, and
the old dame, her face beaming with pride and admiration,
clapped her hands in time to the music. Every minute or
two she would glance from her son to Dorothy's face to
note what impression such a gallant sight had made.

"Is it not _magnifique?_ Is he not splendid?" she asked
the girl.

"He is indeed wonderful," replied Dorothy, truthfully
enough.

Despite the suggestion of weirdness the goblin-like scene
created in her mind, the grimaces and antics of the
manikin, and the sulkily responsive movements of the
bear, were too absurd for anything. She thought of Rory's
story of how the "b'ar" resented being left out of its
share in Pepin's castor-oil; and was so tickled by the
contrast of their present occupation that, despite herself,
she broke out into a fit of laughter. Fearful of betraying
the reason of it, she began to clap her hands like the
old lady, which action, being attributed by the others
to her undisguised admiration, at once found favour in
their eyes. Dorothy began to imagine she was getting on
famously.

"Honey," cried the old lady, raising her voice and stooping
towards the girl, "I like yer face. Barrin' Katie, you're
the only gal I'd like for Pepin. I reckon we'll just stow
you away quietly like, and then afterwards you kin be
his wife."

But the prospect so alarmed Dorothy that her heart seemed
to stop beating again. At the same moment Pepin showed
signs of fatigue, and the music stopped abruptly. Antoine,
however, in a fit of absent-mindedness, kept on waltzing
around on his own account, until Pepin gave him a crack
over the head and brought him to his senses.

"Come hyar, Pepin," cried the old dame. "Mam'selle is
took wid you. I think she'd make you a good wife, my
sweet one."

Dorothy grew hot and cold at the very thought of it. She
really did not know what these people were capable of.

Pepin approached her with what he evidently intended to
be dignified strides. For the first time he honoured her
with a searching scrutiny. Poor Dorothy felt as if the
black eyes of this