"Hasn't la petite gone to sleep yet?" he asked, offering me his arm.
"Oh yes! some time ago."
"Then you prefer upstairs to downstairs, even on gala nights?" he inquired, with a smile.
"I don't know exactly," I answered; but at this moment, Phil made his appearance with the gentleman who had been at the dressing-room door when Essie had made her unexpected début.
"Ah, here you are!" he exclaimed; "we have been hunting you high and low for a good half hour." And he presented, "Mr. Viennet."
The name, and his very slight foreign accent, assured me that this was the young Frenchman of whom I had heard so much from Grace and Josephine. He was at once "the best dancer," "the handsomest fellow," and "the cleverest man" in society, so when he bowed very low and asked me to dance, it was as if the planet Mercury had slid down the starry floor of heaven and demanded the honor of my hand. All I could do was to drop my eyes, blush very much, and assent.
Mr. Rutledge released me instantly, bowed and drew back. Mr. Viennet gave me his arm, and in a moment we were on the floor.
Nobody that dances well but loves it. I danced well, and I loved it. Mr. Viennet told me he knew that, the moment he looked at me, and as he seemed to take a wicked pleasure in saying such things, and making me blush, I soon regained my self-possession, and a certain degree of sauciness wherewith to parry these remarks. The captain was my vis-à-vis, and he whispered as we met:
"Upon my soul, Miss Josephine'll have to look to her laurels; my friend Victor seems mightily épris."
"Is the captain asking you to dance?" demanded Mr. Viennet.