"Don't be cruel," said one.
"Your flower-face must go to the ball-room," said another.
"Take pity on us; we don't carry a bouquet," said a third.
"So we will that you are near," said another.
At last she was carried off by Eau Clair.
"How beautiful your ball-room is, Monsieur Eau Clair," said Vaura.
"What multitudes of flowers; how many green-houses have you laid bare?
There will not be one rose-bud in all Paris for the Marshal McMahon's
fete, but that will not grieve you, a Bonapartist."
"Of this I am sure, Mlle. Vernon, if I have left him any roses they are not the sweetest, for well I know the beauteous butterfly of to-day loves their sweet odour."
Dance succeeded dance, and all went merry as a marriage bell, to divine music by two of the most perfect bands in Paris; and now Everly claims his innings, and is happy.
"Have mercy on me, Sir Tilton," laughed Vaura, "and forgive me this dance (besides, we have another together), and you don't know how sweetly amiable I shall be, if you'll find me a seat beside Lady Esmondet."
"Consider yourself seated, and your martyred subject not far off, fair
Mademoiselle."