” “I may have to run,” said her father, with an appeal to his watch. ‘Peste,’ she wailed, as Emile dropped to the floor, ducking down. One night, she drew close to him in bed, trying to warm herself by embracing his back. She saw herself begin a slow, sinuous dance: and stop suddenly in the middle of a figure, conscious that the dance was not impromptu, her own, but native—the same dance she had quitted but a few minutes gone. She had made her way since then a little further into the heart of life. " This sally occasioned a general laugh.
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