“Dubois for ever!” exclaimed Edward, as Julia finished her mimicry of her master's tone and grimace. “Oh, he is the drollest creature—and Julia is such a mimic—the girls will have nobody to make them laugh when she is gone.”
Mrs. Sackville secretly rejoiced that Julia was to be removed, in a great degree, from the temptation to exercise so mischievous a faculty. She, however, did not turn the drift of the conversation to make any remarks on it. “Console Mr. Dubois,” she said, “my dear, Julia, with the assurance, that your mother will take care that you do not lose the benefit of his labors in the service of the graces. Your father tells me, there is in our neighborhood a very decent musician, who does all the fiddling for the parish. I have purchased some cotillon music, and I hope your favorite tunes will soon resound in our new mansion.”
“Oh, that will be delightful, mother, but Edward and I cannot dance a cotillon alone.”
“No, but we are not going to a desert. There are enough clever children in the neighborhood, who will form a set with you; and now, Julia, that I see by your brightened eye, that you think the affliction of leaving the dancing-school will be alleviated, what is the next subject of your regret?”
“The next, mother? what is next, Edward?”
“I do not know what you will call next, Julia, but I think the theatre comes next.”
“O! the theatre—yes, the theatre—how could I forget the theatre?”
“Well, my children, I think you can live without the theatre, as you go but once, or at most twice in a season; a pleasure that occupies so small a portion of your time, cannot be very important to your happiness, or regretted very deeply.”
“A small portion of time, to be sure, mother,” replied Edward; “but then you will own it is delightful: you yourself exclaimed the other night when the curtain drew up, ‘what a beautiful spectacle!’”
“Yes, my love, but nature has far more beautiful spectacles, and I have kept you too long from them.”