“What a very matter-of-fact statement in favour of kings!” exclaimed Max Graub;—“Here is a child who does not care a button for a king as king; but she thinks he would be useful as a figure-head to dance to,—for idiotic Fashion, grouping itself idiotically around the figure-head, would want to see her dance also—and then—oh simple conclusion!—she would be able to support her father! Truly, a king has often been put to worse uses!”
“I think,” said Pasquin Leroy, “I could manage to get you a trial at the Royal Opera, Pequita! I know the manager.”
She looked up with a sudden blaze of light in her eyes, sprang towards him, dropped on one knee with an exquisite grace, and kissed his hand.
“Oh!—you will be goodness itself!” she cried;—“And I will be grateful—indeed I will!—so grateful!”
He was startled and amazed at her impulsive action, and taking her little hand, gently pressed it.
“Poor child!” he said;—“You must not thank me till I succeed. It is very little to do—but I will do all I can.”
“Someone else will be grateful too!” said Lotys in her rich thrilling voice; and her eyes rested on him with that wonderful magnetic sweetness which drew his soul out of him as by a spell; while Zouche, only partially understanding the conversation said slowly:—
“Pequita deserves all the good she can get; more than any of us. We do nothing but try to support ourselves; and we talk a vast amount about supporting others,—but Pequita works all the time and says nothing. And she is a genius—she does not know it, but she is. Give us the Dagger Dance, Pequita! Then our friend Leroy can judge of you at your best, and make good report of you.”
Pequita looked at Lotys and received a sign of assent. She then nodded to Valdor.
“You know what to play?”