tes and glasses; so those who
had been partners in the dance now became partners in other matters,
eating off the same plate and drinking out of the same tumbler; but this
only made it so much the merrier. By and by somebody volunteered a song,
and somebody else made a speech, and then we went down again to the
ball-room, and dancing recommenced.

The laughter now became louder, and the legs of the guests more vigorous
than ever. The orchestra, too, received an addition to its strength in
the person of a gentleman who, having drunk more cold punch than was
quite consistent with the preservation of his equilibrium, was still
sober enough to oblige us with a spirited accompaniment on the shovel
and tongs, which, with the violin and accordion, and the comb _obligato_
before mentioned, produced a startling effect, and reminded one of
Turkish marches, Pantomime overtures, and the like barbaric music.

In the midst of the first polka, however, we were interrupted by a
succession of furious double knocks on the floor beneath our feet. We
stopped by involuntary consent--dancers, musicians, and all.

"It's our neighbor on the story below," said Monsieur Jules. "He objects
to the dancing."

"Then we'll dance a little heavier, to teach him better taste," said a
student, who had so little hair on his head and so much on his chin,
that he looked as if his face had been turned upside down. "What is the
name of the ridiculous monster?"

"Monsieur Bobinet."

"Ladies and gentlemen, let us dance for the edification of Monsieur
Bobinet! Orchestra, strike up, in honor of Monsieur Bobinet! One, two,
three, and away!"

Hereupon we uttered a general hurrah, and dashed off again, like a herd
of young elephants. The knocking ceased, and we thought that Monsieur
Bobinet had resigned himself to his fate, when, just as the polka ended
and the dancers were promenading noisily round and round the room, the
bombardment began afresh; and this time against the very door of the
ball-room.

"_Par exemple_!" cries Monsieur Jules. "The enemy dares to attack us in
our own lines!"

"Bolt the door, and let him knock till he's tired," suggested one.

"Open it suddenly, and deluge him with water!" cried another.

"Tar and feather him!" proposed a third.

In the meantime, Monsieur Bobinet, happily ignorant of these agreeable
schemes for his reception, continued to thunder away upon the outer
panels, accompanying the raps with occasional loud cough