"Suppose we go to the opera to-night?" said Lizzie to the squire, as she sat—all her languor gone—looking out of the window at the stream of life flowing below.
"Just as you like—it's all one to me," said the squire, with most sublime indifference.
"Then the opera be it," said Lizzie, and the opera, accordingly, it was. And a few hours later found them comfortably seated, listening to the music, and gazing on the gayly-attired people around them.
"How delightful this is!" exclaimed Lizzie, her eyes sparkling with pleasure.
"Humph!—delightful! Set of fools! 'All is vanity,' as Solomon says. Wonder who foots the bills for all this glittering and shaking toggery?" grunted the squire.
"I've heard them say that the young danseuse, 'La Petite Eaglet,' is going to dance to-night," said Louis. "Everybody's raving about her."
"Why? Is she so beautiful?" inquired Lizzie.
"No, I believe not; it's because she dances so well," replied Louis.
At this moment the curtain arose, a thunder of applause shook the house, and La Petite Eaglet herself stood before them. A little straight, lithe figure, arrayed in floating, gauzy robes of white silver tissue, and crowned with white roses—a small, dark, keen, piquant face—bright, roguish eyes, that went dancing like lightning around the house. Suddenly her eye fell on our party from St. Mark's; a slight start and a quick removal of her eyes followed. The applause grew deafening as the people hailed their favorite. She bowed. The music struck merrily up, and her tiny feet went glancing, like rain-drops, here and there. She seemed floating in air, not touching the ground, as she whirled, and flew, and skimmed like a bird in the sunshine. The squire was dizzy—absolutely dizzy—looking at her. His head was going round, spinning like a top, or like her feet, as he gazed. Lizzie and Louis were entranced, but Archie, after the first glance, sat with dilating eyes and parted lips—incredulous, amazed, bewildered—with a look of half-puzzled, half-delighted recognition on his face.
Still the little dancer whirled and pirouetted before them; and when she ceased a shout of applause thundered through the building, shaking it to its center. Flowers, wreaths, and bouquets fell in showers around her; ladies waved their handkerchiefs and clapped their little hands in the excitement of the moment. The opera-going world seemed to have gone mad. And there stood the little Eaglet, bowing to the delighted audience, the very impersonification of self-possession and grace.