"Would you like to dance?" said George Brummell, to Mrs. Armstrong, en passant.
"I have only just left off," answered she, rising, and curtseying with much politeness; "but I am never tired of dancing."
"You have a dancing face," Brummell quietly observed, fixing his eyes steadily on her countenance for a second or two, and then passing on.
Poor Lucy, she afterwards declared to us, was never so ashamed and humbled since she had been born.
All this time, Montgomery's thick straight locks were steadily beating time on his watery forehead, as he trod the mazy dance with all his might, footing it away most scholastically. He did indeed dance famously; but then he was always out at the elbows, which appeared to have no connection whatever with his feet, particularly on this eventful night, when one of his elbows came in such neighbourly contact with the eye of the poor Duc de Berri, who was just entering the room, while Montgomery was swinging short corners near the door, as sent his Royal Highness reeling backwards.
Tout le monde fût au désespoir!
"Mon Dieu! Quel malheur, monsieur le duc!" said Amy.
"Rien, rien du tout," answered the good-natured Duc de Berri, holding his handkerchief to his eye.
"Il y a tant de monde ici, ce soir, et la salle n'est pas grande, comme vous voyez, monsieur," said Fanny, to His Highness; as usual endeavouring to excuse and conciliate all parties.