p the stage,
put on her tragedy face again, and prepared once more to stalk down to
the footlights.

Monsieur Dorinet, in the meanwhile, had snatched up a candle, readjusted
his spectacles, and found his place.

"_Ma soeur_" he began again, holding the book close to his eyes and the
candle just under his nose, and nodding vehemently with every
emphasis:--

"_Ma soeur, voici le bras qui venge nos deux freres,
Le bras qui rompt le cours de nos destins contraires,
Qui nous rend maitres d'Albe_" ...

A piercing scream from Madame Marotte, a general cry on the part of the
audience, and a strong smell of burning, brought the dancing-master to a
sudden stop. He looked round, bewildered.

"Your wig! Your wig's on fire!" cried every one at once.

Monsieur Dorinet clapped his hand to his head, which was now adorned
with a rapidly-spreading glory; burned his fingers; and cut a
frantic caper.

"Save him! save him!" yelled Madame Marotte.

But almost before the words were out of her mouth, Mueller, clearing the
candles at a bound, had rushed to the rescue, scalped Monsieur Dorinet
by a _tour de main_, cast the blazing wig upon the floor, and trampled
out the fire.

Then followed a roar of "inextinguishable laughter," in which, however,
neither the tragic Camille nor the luckless Horace joined.

"Heavens and earth!" murmured the little dancing-master, ruefully
surveying the ruins of his blonde peruke. And then he put his hand to
his head, which was as bald as an egg.

In the meanwhile Mdlle. Honoria, who had not yet succeeded in uttering a
syllable of her part, took no pains to dissemble her annoyance; and was
only pacified at last by a happy proposal on the part of Monsieur
Philomene, who suggested that "this gifted demoiselle" should be
entreated to favor the society with a soliloquy.

Thus invited, she draped herself again, stalked down to the footlights
for the third time, and in a high, shrill voice, with every variety of
artificial emphasis and studied gesture, recited Voltaire's famous
"Death of Coligny," from the _Henriade_.

In the midst of this performance, just at that point when the assassins
are described as falling upon their knees before their victim, the door
of the room was softly opened, and another guest slipped in unseen
behind us. Slipped in, indeed, so quietly that (the backs of the
audience being turned that way) no one seemed to hear, and no one looked
round but myself.

Brie