le. Honoria.

"No what, my love?"

"No interlocutor," repeated Mdlle. Honoria, at the top of her voice.

"Dear! dear! what a pity! Can't we send the boy for it? Marie, my child,
bid Jacques run to Madame de Montparnasse's _appartement_ in the
Rue" ...

But Madame Marotte's voice was lost in the confusion; for Monsieur
Dorinet was already deep in the arrangement of the room, and we were all
helping to move the furniture. As for Mademoiselle's last difficulty,
the little dancing-master met that by offering to read whatever was
necessary to carry on the scene.

And now, the stage being cleared, the audience placed, and Monsieur
Dorinet provided with a volume of Corneille, Mademoiselle Honoria
proceeded to drape herself in an old red shawl belonging to
Madame Marotte.

The scene selected is the fifth of the fourth act of Horace, where
Camille, meeting her only surviving brother, upbraids him with the death
of Curiace.

Mam'selle Honoria, as Camille, with clasped hands and tragic expression,
stalks in a slow and stately manner towards the footlights.

(Breathless suspense of the audience.)

M. Dorinet, who should begin by vaunting his victory over the Curiatii,
stops to put on his glasses, finds it difficult to read with all the
candles on the ground, and mutters something about the smallness of
the type.

Mdlle. Honoria, not to keep the audience waiting, surveys the ex-god
Seamander with a countenance expressive of horror; starts; and takes a
turn across the stage.

"_Ma soeur,_" begins M. Dorinet, holding the book very much on one side,
so as to catch the light upon the page, "_ma soeur, voici le bras_"....

"Ah, Heaven! my dear Mademoiselle, take care of the candles!" cries
Madame Marotte in a shrill whisper.

... "_le bras qui venge nos deux freres,
Le bras qui rompt le cours de nos destins contraires,
Qui nous rend"_...

Here he lost his place; stammered; and recovered it with difficulty.

_"Qui nous rend maitres d'Albe"_....

Madame Marotte groans aloud in an agony of apprehension

"_Ah, mon Dieu!_" she exclaims, gaspingly, "if they didn't flare so, it
wouldn't be half so dangerous!"

Here M. Dorinet dropped his book, and stooping to pick up the book,
dropped his spectacles.

"I think," said Mdlle. Honoria, indignantly, "we had better begin again.
Monsieur Dorinet, pray read with the help of a candle _this_ time!"

And, with an angry toss of her head, Mdlle. Honoria went u