“Will you take a little glass of something, my darling?”
The poor girl blushed crimson, and, painfully embarrassed, declined, and
asked pardon for declining; when the lady broke in rather rudely, and
said,--
“You are not thirsty? Very well. You’ll drink after some time. In the
meantime will you play us a quadrille? and mark the time, please.”
Then imitating with distressing accuracy the barking voice of masters of
ceremonies at public balls, she called out,--
“Take your positions, take your positions: a quadrille!”
Henrietta had taken her seat at the piano. She turned her back to the
dancers; but she had before her a mirror, in which she saw every gesture
of Mrs. Hilaire and her guests. And then she became quite sure of what
she had suspected from the beginning. She understood into what company
she had been inveigled by the concierge’s wife. She had, however,
sufficient self-control to finish the quadrille. But, when the last
figure had been danced, she rose; and, walking up to the mistress of the
house, said, stammering painfully, and in extreme embarrassment,--
“Please excuse me, madam, I have to leave. I feel very unwell. I could
not play any more.”
“How funny!” cried one of the gentlemen. “Here is our ball at an end!”